o·pen

April 22, I slept with my window open And woke up to summer. For the rest of the morning I heard garbagemen shouting incantations over the Gregorian humming of their instruments The rain responded, joining the chorus of sporadic beeping and splashing puddles, turning the bricks from terra cotta to mud, Forcing me to dig through my memory to recall the luminescence, the songs of summer to which I awoke.