summer excuses itself &
steps out onto the porch
for one last look
at the falling sun
before taking up with the fog
muttering something indecipherable
about the allure of mysterious women
in explanation
summer's child begins to suspect
this may have been her last season
of running in shorts through tall grass
wanting nothing more than to hold summer's hand
an eternity
feeling somewhat foolish
she lingers over a fashion magazine
studies eyeliner & rules
for white linen and labor day
as the fog leaves traces of its spoor
on the window sill
& she considers following it
to that place she has never seen
anyone return from
summer sends a postcard
with no return address
& she thinks she finds the point
in between the lines
where he hints at the reason
for seasons in the first place:
constant reminders
cycling in & out
to the rhythm of the sun
& the moon
because, sweet child
it really is all about change
after all . . .
