I do not know what to do with my heart

I am saying                                it is summer
still in the passing of
                                       sighing breeze

& my heart                                 my heart
            I do not know what to do with my heart

It slips away     from me with a crowd

of roses shaking        in the same air
             I am shaking in
                                        & she wears that same dress

it is summer
                           the legs of girls exposed in joyful light

& the grace of being human here
but not human together
                                              I am just this

clamor of longing in afternoon

[Nate Pritts {1974- } 'A poem for early summer', from Sweet Nothing]