Always in August

Always in August

 

Festooned in flaming trumpet
vine and daylilies, tomatoes just
coming on, really, and afternoons still
bearing down on our sweltering necks,

 

there comes a moment, long before
the first rustle of cornstalks, when
I catch a glimpse of morning light
dropping a sad angle

 

through the late summer
crown of a silver maple,
spot a triplet of snowy egrets
skimming the southern horizon,

 

or field the first hint of night spice.
Sudden mingle of sweet and bitter
jolts me, trips the switch,
summer to fall in a single gasp.

 

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