That missing ’n’, the
en, the en, an end to something unending.
All around un-ends
yet this summer is so particularly like
Palm trees un-end, shed dead end fronds and shoot up to the sun
for more withering by broken rays.
Flies buzz automatically in flat air,
once circle en, two, en,
three four five,
a belligerent drill only just sentient, —
almost not alive.