Summer

i abhor
the anxiety
of anxiousness-
of waiting
     & waiting
          & waiting
               & waiting

(for someone who
is never going to arrive)-

because it's me
in a room
with 26 letters
who choose
whether to form-
& be spoken
     & then stumble
          & then fall
               & then reach

out for-
another
crumbling hold
and i begin to count
2 4 6 10 seconds
until another sunset.