50.

I know there,
in that brisk year
that may be
these days
and those
will yet swell a chorus
of summer's reflection.

In these voices are heard
and in time moments lost
that could have been thought
a moments song.

But in a summer's thought
colorful faces support
Impressionism and
grapefruit smiles never end.

Butterflies melt on skins
never to be touched again
except by a summer's thought.
Our organic hap
a hiccup and
giggle
rose jiggle
and
never again
rely
on thought.
Swell,
set,
and
continue:
listen