If you think of the weather
As part of our collective karma
What do you make
Of this purgatorial summer
That wants to cook the planet
I think of brown eggs bouncing
Boiled hard for dinner
With a piece of burnt toast
I think of laundry frozen on a line
In some long ago winter
Me struggling to take it down
I think of all the cold hearts
In the world at any given time
Yes mine among them and hope
My melting hope might warm them
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