Thinking summer

He stayed there most nights
and imagined summers
the buzz of bees and lawnmowers
combining into a symphony

with the colours of pansies,
peonies and tulips, their lips
open to sun drenched afternoons.
Without a broom, the leaves stayed -

autumn vistors that gave the floors
extra crunch when he rolled
sleep an empty thing, floating past
like a dream he wanted

but never seemed to grasp,
another reminder that he
wasn't good enough for anything :
even the human basics seemed to fail him.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poetry by Heather Taylor