On the breaking day,

the trees outside my window

begin shaking

their branches. Everything

is restless. This morning,

on the radio: scientists

have witnessed a supernova.

Summer has settled in, heavy,

sweaty, ripening beneath

layers of past summers.

He had perfect teeth.

July yawned

irrefutably before us.

Red carpet rolled, horns

blared. This was heaven,

or close. Don‘t believe

what they tell you:

a young heart

does not break;

it deflates—like a balloon.