July

With heat
childhood jealousy issues (really mean nothing
now)
and hospital visits of years' past summers
ending, always, in coffins,
makes my Julys a game of tolerance.

But this year, something to look forward to
(less or more than a country across the sea)
of meeting my hero
art-master
magic-maker.

Seriously, one brief encounter to cause so much hope
                 (will end in disappointment)
but still better than remembering the rain and cobblestone,
stoop of people,
feeling infinite
staring out into the north sea.
Streets of disinterested yet pleasant people,
cafes older than my whole world until that point.
I lived in antiquity
enjoying the 44,600 minutes spent in Scotland,


oh too willing to throw a future away in waves.
Though, I never crossed that barbed wire.


I'll never get that moment back,
yet the 11th will still be magical