Summertime is upon us,
and the adventures that follow
raise the dead we buried last autumn.
The ghost of leaves once fallen, breathed
new life in the breeze that caress our skin—
That held our sin in the winter.
Waiting for spring to bless us
with abundance, before summer
takes the shape of all we forget to remember.
A. Benét is an emerging poet from California. Her work is forthcoming in The Acorn Review and published in The Origami Review. You can, sometimes, find her on Twitter @benetthewriter.