You know where I’ll be,

and I hope to see you then.

For when the fig should fall,

there is orchard begging me.

And when I chase her call

a serpent is all I see.

Tell me he’s in your heart too,

and I will listen to no end.

But, the space inside time as it passes

harbors the truth that neither may share.

Like a priest who pacifies masses,

Our gods ought not be laid bare.

Let summer come, as it may,

and only on the solstice know that it is June, again.