july belongs to you,
and songbird. the wind
won't stop whistling,
shaking the trees
amidst the aftermath of
Night-storm.

look, river-and-sea. we
are all but caught in
dream after dream,
weaving parallel time-
lines and fragments
of our memories.

see, i told you.
it is what it is when
i put the book down as
you stare out into the
woods through
the ***** pane.

i want you.
i whisper breath-
lessly. summer, but not
quite. you see, believe me
when i say.

july belongs to you.