“End of a Season,” New Era, Sept. 2001, 24
The air is scented with exhaustion
from a summer completely spent.
Maples arch rounded backs against
and begin to shed their golden
to blanket the fainting grass.
This corner of the park falls silent,
except for the breathy wind
laboring through the chapped leaves,
whispering of a quiet June kiss
under full, moist boughs—
a kiss that, like the leaves, dried in
and blew off in the first gust
of September chill.