The concrete glows beneath a heavy glare,
A breathless heat is hanging in the air.
May’s final days are burning fierce and
bright,
With no relief to cool the stifling night.
In
summers past, a sudden cloud would form,
A brief, chaotic, beautiful-mad storm.
The dust would settle as the raindrops fell,
Breaking the season’s suffocating spell.
But now,
the June horizon whispers near,
And still, the stubborn skies remain too
clear.
The storm clouds gather, but they drift away,
To bless some distant land, but not today.
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