We think of nothing

You know the time of year when green
is about, and building sites
are cordoned with tupperware
and men who drag their buzz fists through nettles.

Wasps collect on window sills
antennae crisp,
toddlers catch worms in their fists
and wine glasses are washed
and washed and picnic blankets smell of basements
and the heat is anaeslegic,
and the sun, tomato inside our eyelids,
telling the dark to shhh infant.