the lone bee of winter sorrow
sluggishly flies
barely able
to hover over
the brown stalks of summer promise unfulfilled

the air smells of rain
that heavy ozone scent
of impending storms
it has been this way for days
never quite letting loose
the flood impending

a sail boat on the gray waves
buffeted by the winds
near to tipping
yet the goddamned fool
fights the rigging
even as it coils around his neck