Summer’s End
Expectations are too high in summer
the result a blue haze in low light—
the air-conditioned waiting for the end.
First cold snap I breathe in, around my arms
a small blanket wound up in fleecy warmth.
The marigolds—I’ll miss their bursting blooms—
humidity gave them what they wanted
after holding molecules still in air.
Nothing moved except mosquitoes and flies,
a red squirrel balancing on a spruce.
I watch the gradualness of it all—
the daddy long legs wanting to come in—
I think of where they’ve been all summer long
now clinging to hinges and the metal frame.
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