through rivers of plum rain trailing down glass, a student guarding six bright bags by the dorm. little puddles froth over sandaled toes, sheets of almost-white susurrate in and out of the air. in the murky green turtles swim unperturbed by the craters that lilt open one by one. even taking in foreign fluid, the pond remains the pond. this time of summer, there is nothing to be afraid of: campus transforms from prison to haven; june will come and go with the boys and girls perched on shiny mopeds and bicycles, and every day it will be unbearably hot, hotter than it has been all year. in autumn the new students will saunter through and marvel at the turtles for a week. then the dark will close in again, damp will wheel into bones, it will be unbearably cold with no end in sight. i can’t wait, the students sigh, i can’t wait to be done (who has not bitten these words back? who can ever say they have done a goodbye right?). until then, the blanket of summer remains thick in the air, collecting moisture in throats, clogging eyes with unwelcome humidity, trapping and wrapping ghosts⁠ over sweating skin⁠.