Summer goes slow
when there is no one to see
and nowhere to go.
We expect elation.
purple flowers,
green trees
yellow honey bees
But like winter
we find an antiode
to the happy
A metaphysical cure
for the unrestrained insane.
I am dormant here in this
square box.
The only way out
is hurricanes;
scorching wind,
pounding rain
I'm not yet ready to leave
the calm of the ocean spray,
the warm of the sun beaten sand
the salt of the sea on my hands.