This is July?

Cold and damp swept in like a window shopper,
lingering awkwardly, fingering the merchandise,
making its presence known but offering no hope
of an exchange.

What I want is to stay here, swaddled, with no
reason to venture out into this sneak preview of
November. What I want is to not feel waterlogged,
heavy with dread,

soaked in a whole lot of trips not taken, staring
down another bleak midwinter and waiting for
the temperature to creep up enough to not make
my bones ache

with it, this longing.

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