patches of silver-lined clouds

scatter beneath a blue sky--

which should I believe?

bright city lights

stars out of sight

--what's the moon for?

criss-crossing branches and twigs

overlapping, shuttering leaves

I take refuge from the scourching sun

a white cloud zips above me

cutting an azure sky

what man has made is sure to fade 

Love your crooked neighbor with your crooked heart -- W. H Auden