All winter you neglected
the strong red umbrella
let its ribs rust in the grass and mud
let north wind crush the birdhouse

without uttering a word, you gave up
on the rose beds, the apple
that rounded off the earth.
By indulgence or distraction you left,

let so many things die off
the only place to set your gaze
is on the draft slicing through your house
and you're surprised still, surprised when

cold seizes you from summer's very arms