I feel drunk–with what? Summer maybe. Perhaps
it’s the salmon light of sunset on the patch of far clouds

that hits me like a bolt of Lagavulin lightning, or it’s that
luminous blue after sunset fades that sinks me like some

fruity azure cordial, too sweet with such a bite, just before
the light drifts black. Even though it’s morning now,

the brief night’s effects linger. The world feels strangely
weighted to the left, or my body does. I can’t help but lurch,

left left left. And my head swims with those silvery little bullheads
that dart from your feet when you’re wading

in the woven light of the tide. My head so distant
from my feet but silver dashing everywhere. I round about

my summer chores. The raspberries drop into my hands,
but the black currants must be convinced to let go.

I wrestle with them a bit just like I wrestle with the idea
of sleep, how to sleep when the nights are so sweet

and so brief? How not to sleep when the night breathes
lavender velvet through the window? Days so unbalanced

they lie about the hour as long as long as they can,
longer than anyone should, stretched beyond reason

till I know there’s been a day full of more
than the usual hours, so full of the salty summer sky

I drink down hard until I believe these nights will grow longer
till they’re ever shorter again. That the earth spins just like me.