don't rush the morning
it's too soon or
too early & we're always passing something (along or)
i'm hanging, hating coulds
fighting to find just being alright again

it's July already
a bird will fly across your view or through a thought
& you won't think about me or linens or anything;
& sometimes i'd rather be the burning thing
between the horizon and the clouds
when the sun sets
than this

i'd rather be quiet

cause you're calling vacation what i call patience and i don't know summer at all anymore

i'm mourning weather
i'm dressed in memory
the lavender is almost gone and
it's almost time I went back home for a while