It is summer

But the frost has come

Ghosted my garden

Turned the cobwebs white

Furred leaves

Chilled the place to its roots.

My living room chair,

The side-lamp. Shelves of books.

Shadowy corners.

Like they have just returned

Sit in a place a few inches away

From where they were before.

I shall put myself back in place

Like the spines of my books

Alphabetically,

one rib next to another

To keep me upright.