Mostly overcast, and how. Where
have the colors gone, the spark
of early summer giving way to
heat-bleached tones. Or maybe
it’s me, lost in dreams as
deadlines approach, lured by
drama on the pitch and grand scale
emotions, like the moths to the
lamp outside the garage door,
to  bright lights, to easy escape,
a vida em outras línguas, the eternal
promise of somewhere else.