Don't be hatin'

August and September air

is blast heat to chill promise.

The outside year fades and

I feel the tug of hot cocoa,

the at-hand switch to thick sweater.

A layer of Winter fat will soon pad

but not now. The Summer swimsuit reigns.

I inhale only imagined change.

Today, leaves yet live green

and park tables still fill at noon.

But how the haze hangs in the air,

the cool hint of bite in a breath,

discomfited lungs insinuating a

precipitous fall of molecules

delving to unexplored reaches.

No longer the hot air loft,

the far-gazing heights -

a heft in my chest is missing -

and the absence
is sweet and solid promise

of holiday trinity.