Where Is Summer?

   
I looked up at the sun today,
and asked him his mind.
He met my eyes.
And sighed.
Then drew the clouds
to hide behind, and went back
    
to his solitude;
unmoved,
he turned his face away, night's cool replacing
heat of a day,
he just could not face.
      
I chased
and challenged him, why he did not shine?
That it cannot be winter
all the time;
there must be warmth and life; his soft caress,
his touch on my skin through a summer dress, his whispered,
golden breath
falling tender
on the back of my neck, 
twisted sheets, beaded sweat, and his
burning
of my soul...
    
He crumpled then and rolled
the clouds
in
thicker, 
blacker,
quicker and quicker; freezing raindrops, began to fall.
    
I looked up
at the sun, a moment,
appalled - and I understood;
      
took down my umbrella
and pushed off my hood; to be willingly cried sodden,
and kissed,
in the ensuing flood; arms open,
without a single
shiver.
    
It was not that he would not try.
    
He would again glint, off the waters of that river,
created and gushing by.
The sun yearned,
for it to be summer,
just, as much as I.