Robin Lane Poet Free verse

Warm

In summer,
we sweat together,
we fan each others’ faces
with folded paper,
we splash 
in pools
and lakes.
The warmth, the heat,
it comes from outside,
does not begin within.
We did not create the heat,
the sweat and passion;
we react to the sun,
we burn in the light.
Warmth and heavy breath
comes, natural,
with the month of June.

And by September,
infused with summer’s heat
we have forgotten our own.
And the wind starts
to shiver the leaves
from the trees,
and the clouds freeze rain
into snowflakes.
The heat we felt together
in summer’s ambrosia-sun
is frozen, is cold, is wet.

I find myself
in the opposite of June,
feet vulnerable in boots,
fingers tucked into gloves,
and I have learned
to keep myself
warm.

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