Memo To Summer

Like you, I promise nothing.
To a house blistered by ice I bring
a season of heat, throw some light
into corners left blind and forgotten.
Like you, my days are measured,
my heart slanted to angles
polished by the clock.

People bruise so quickly in the cold,
expectations plunge when morning
knocks still dressed in black.
Then you and I come back,
another season pruned, to plant
whatever sings and sighs under
the cotton moon.