All too briefly, the air was still, warm, a blanket of calm
Unlike Damocles, not given to flattery
yet a single hair bears the dagger twisting overhead
revealing not the perils of power, but of Limbo
or the vain grasp for illusory freedom
Now the air is charged, cooling, crawling over my skin like
ants over a pool of spilled honey
It never was summer; it was a trick of the mind.