It’s the first of June and everything is alive, everything:
the sweaty squirrel, the euphonium, the air
smells like syrup and cherries. This year, the maple trees
wrestle through overgrown grass, down each hill, branch
over branch. What is there to chase? This June is already
so warm, like blanketing, and there are still so many
strawberries blossoming in the fields. I am warm
and covered in soil. I stand still and let the heat stretch
through all ten fingers, to my nose and teeth.