One after another
they go quietly under:
the little-stemmed,
tender-skinned, the soft
blue and broad-leaved
remainders of summer.
I walk past each plot,
dig my hands deep
into my pockets.
In the river’s folds,
the fish burrow deeper.
One after another
they go quietly under:
the little-stemmed,
tender-skinned, the soft
blue and broad-leaved
remainders of summer.
I walk past each plot,
dig my hands deep
into my pockets.
In the river’s folds,
the fish burrow deeper.