The summer introduces itself as
A not-too-hot,
Not-too-humid,
Late afternoon in May.

It's nice to meet you,
With the hot black dogs
And wilting weeds
Expiring in the sun.

I'll talk to you
While you sit in the shade,
Humoring me just for one month.

Yes, I know you need
To mingle with the other things
And make storms and dust
And mosquito-fresh puddles.

And as you move on,
I'll fan the sweating bugs
And bide my thirsty plants.

But don't worry,
I'll keep track of the sun
And when the vine's shadow is ripe,
I'll jump the fence, waving,
Into the next one.