Words for Wednesday

1

Elegy at Summer’s End

~Joe Bolton

Now the darker cloth is drawn from closets,

The summer dresses put away

Whose flowers fade faster than even summer’s own.

Now a minor music begins:

First frost and newfound clarity of sky.

I’ve left you sleeping in the summerhouse

To walk the loved edge of the lake

Where the southward flight of geese is more heard than seen,

As this summer may come to seem

A season less remembered than invented.

Already there have been too many words,

Too many versions of the way

The light fell across the water some certain dusk

And the “stunned” trees on the far shore

Caught fire: candescence, conflagration, blaze.

Now the darker cloth is drawn from closets,

And we who loved the world must learn

The language of absence: days foreshortened, empty rooms,

The irrevocable distance

Between the goodbye and the letting go.

 

Hat tip to Snarkworth.

 

Picture found here.

 

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