Watermelon rind forgotten
in the grass for the ants.

Streetlights come on
and shadows move behind shaded windows.

Music from a car window
far away and going somewhere.

Spring is promise, but summer’s fullness
holds the seeds of its own dissolution.

Like dandelions that have turned
to ghosts and will soon fly away.

Like the drop hanging from the spigot, swelling
and just waiting to shatter.