Shall I remind you, of seasons once?
Do you remember how summer used to be?
It was hot and humid, thick with heat that stuck to skin:
It used to be that frost would wait, patiently, and warmth, too, for their rhythmic roles,
And summer was a welcome warmth book-ended by cold we knew to be just:
But sometimes, summer comes too soon. More often than it used to, now,
And the seasons, once broken by rhythm, blend and break;
And our bodies, unfamiliar to time without the cycles that used to tell it,
Move by chance, confusion, aimless in nature's newness to our bones:
Eternal summer, peppered even into January afternoons, has only just begun,
And does not cease its hold, is no longer regular in warmth and chill;
Death does not need to brag, its head reared clearly in glacier melt and sands of time,
For eternity is told no longer in pattern, this new identity of earth:
So long as we breathe, breaths caught, and watch our errors unfold unchecked,
So long will continue this death, toxic in its warm fever, as we sit idly and do nothing.