Seven Seasons

In heat that would singe any devil

you might just pray for rain.

But tomorrow, you'll curse the drizzle

because you miss the sun.

You can miss out on so much, just trying to keep warm.

Rebelling against the sky well for spilling over us,


did we ever deserve for Circe to tilt the clouds?

So taste her when she's water,

feel her dancing on your face.

Be still in her tears

and never run out of them

because comfort is just a season within a season,

just as ice is a blanket in the summer

that feels like the sky fell because it didn't want over a lover

disguised as chills slipping down

in constellations melting at our feet

to make us fall in love with colder comforts.

So we can learn to be lost sometimes when she is.

Find it irresistible to stay there,

and forget a way out from her maze

but be her home wherever she grows.

Then, it won't matter if we're walking in circles.

The lilies will wake beneath the emerald plush

so long as we revolve around each other

for seven seasons of every year.