40/Rosary of Summer

How does summer die?  The rain, as usual,
lurks behind the clouds, like some formulated poetry
of pain, this burlesque of romance & knights
crystal doves & watery flow of light

That sums up all, what the heart always writes:
At the bottom of our style, shores & sense of bliss,
stirs slowly this monster that has long slept—
Waking, at some uncertain signal, bellows inwardly

Its summer speech:  I see you now, as I
Have always seen you, fair game to all deviltry,
target zero of my prophecy; & myself, cocksure,
worked to splinters in the mirror, fleshblown

After the Act & before, as I have always gleaned, known—
How at the end of the song, we rise from our chairs
to meet the concerto halfway, before the fall of
blank sad notes that baton a finality, a moan

How does summer die?  Like this vintage vision of rain
it just expires: sun clawed off the sky, skin tingling
our hearts closed to damning drive of dark but
we dare not cry:  rain, we know, grows new roots of desire

This entry was posted in Rosary of Summer. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s