letter to that which cannot be seen

dear summer,
i'm just writing to see how you've been and if the weather's nice, though it's not very nice here,
but i know you're probably doing a bit better
seeing as here it's cold but you probably don't know much about that.
anyway, wanted you to know that i miss you and it's probably early where you are but it's dark as a department store here so 
yeah bye

(Storms were wind wrapped over and over and over like blankets turned into burritos. And I was the lettuce.)

dear summer,
good thing it's four o'clock now and i don't have to worry about spending time
because now i'm running out of it.
i'm tired of racing it though.
if time tastes minty, do my eyes lick it every day
off the clock?
peppermint is good and better than kale. 
sorry kale.

(So be it that I am just a witness. Posters tell me this is a crime.)

dear summer,
but i'm bored and i want red velvet cake, said the boy in the painting.
why does no one listen to him?
i heard he likes ballet so we used to watch the dancers across from him in the hall
but they didn't care bout us so they didn't move
and we didn't get why.
i thought they'd at least blink.

(Light is only an imagining because we don't like dark and we needed to be seen. Oh, how we needed to be seen.)

dear summer,
come back one day.
maybe you can fix it all.