You’re a
little raisin
baking on my back
porch,
smiling in the
chilly March
sun, but
dreaming about
July.
July will
smell like flowers
and be thick with
haze,
in July we will
stay up late.
We will drink
beers on a front lawn and
be raisins together,
you,
me,
the ants
you,
me,
the ants
on our thighs.