Unlucky

Oh summer,
Oh the corner of your field
where time is warm wheat,
little butterflies, wafting grasses,
the gravel road,
the black and green nave of the oak
where the heat comes to pray,
the wise and delicate birds,
the coming blue bowl of stars,
tomorrow's dew the only tears
for the bugs the birds have eaten,
the fox and owl, laughing somewhere,
at the poverty of my senses,
and the wind that carries
a little bit of all of you
without wanting more.

Oh summer,
I am a penny
under a stone,
under a broken bottle
in a city without you,
head down.