As I walk down the street on this summer day,

I’m walking through every other summer day

that came before.

All of the ones

contained within me

burst open like that barefooted girl running through fresh cut grass,

sprinkler soaking her neon swimsuit in skinny lines.

The sun on my face feels inseparable from the way

those popsicles dribbled sticky pink and blue

down my chin.

The lilacs in their purple plumes

smell of

shish kebabs over an open grill

and the faint smell of chlorine

that would never quite fade from my hair.

And in the evening,

when the lights shine in dusky twilight,

I see a forest of fireflies

glittering around him

on that fragrant summer night.

The cutouts of buildings over the canals –

they’re New York skyscrapers stretching up between us.

The ripples on the water,

the way our course was set in time.

I can see it all,

every summer,

just a turn of the kaleidoscope,

light playing off

the car windows

lining the street.

I feel the seasons rake through me, hold me

like those needless August fires,

rage like the logs set a flame,

pull me,

an urgent stroke beneath quiet days.