The moon swells
in the last days
of our heat wave.
I have spent the summer
filling this room
with fans,and
each night
I have turned them on and slept
beneath their electric whir, protected
from morning birdsong
and its infinite memory
of your arm
half-circled around my waist.

What will I do
when the cold sets in?
The cold that makes me shiver
but is never enough
for the birds to fly south.