The months spilled, rushing down to summer
with the rain,
last falling in the dark morning,
now the clear blue of a perfect afternoon sky
How can it be that things end without thought,
just tossed as carelessly
as petals in the warm breeze?
Will you remember this May?
The May of thunder and consequences
when all that could have been
was carelessly left to wash away
in the cold night rain.
The sun is shining now
and June is already here,
just waiting in the edge of the wood,
tiptoeing across the runoff
of the hard May rains.