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Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Poem for August, Eschatology


Already August. 

Already the trumpets
have abandoned 
the vines,
leaving behind 
a thicket of green—
the top beams 
of the pergola
heavy with growth—
deep tangled growth
that shelters us 
from the determined heat
of August.

Resting there, 
it is easy to forget.

Elsewhere in the yard,
in delicate pink
and lilac voices,
the Rose of Sharon
still proclaims
sweet, sweet  
On the back porch
thyme and basil, 
parsley and rosemary
still gambol 
in lush finery,
happily unaware 
that one by one,
the flowers 
are departing.

Already, it is August.