First Monday in Summer

I drink hot
coffee in the rising
heat to cool
off. It works
the way no liquid could
when I was

drunk. When I would use

any day of the week
during any season
as an excuse. But nothing
can stop me
from memorizing
the long light of now.

Whose Gingerbread

Do they remember
months after the solstice? Who

will speak
for you tomorrow morning

before strange fog
clears? Tonight this parade

answers no questions.

Chilled by indecision—even a bad choice brings on
summer momentum. I might

go out after
dark. Could swallow flavored water while the camera

runs. Staged accidental
encounters are the new absence

of light
when I dig deep enough into this primitive season.

I don’t remember
the sock monkey, but do
remember our fear
of it. My shadow tripped
over its own darkness
onto stumble

down tracks that no longer
exist. Today I remember
to find light in these
shortest of days,
have almost perfected turning

a corner
into a new moment’s alley
on an evening
you don’t have to carry
me home.