What is the season?
I look down from my orbit.
It is all of them.
Left out lawnmower.
Brightly glistening fizzling sun.
Touches red to cheek.
Headlong to summer.
The body gathers rhythm,
Wrested from darkness.
Trees sweep across hills.
Leaves hungry, gulp in sunlight.
Making selves anew.
Underground to work.
Glimpsed train in other tunnel.
Beckons mirrored world.
Mostly empty mall.
Fenced piano in the centre.
Signs warn of danger!
An ugly building,
different seasons angles viewed,
is almost charming.
Looking at a bird.
Pecking worms from out the ground.
People odd against.
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