So lush, green, lost –light falling, late summer.
Who hears the belt of sound on summer’s waist?
And who holds her grief in her own tight belt?
Who knows if it’s the gods’ unitary song
Or gods of gravity holding us to this spinning globe?
Do you blast an Italian aria not to join the cosmic
Shriek? Or thrash to feel less alone or more bruised?
Crickets – traffic rushing homeward. Can we agree
the song is fading, and sing a lullaby of dusk?