The Simmering Soul
of a Dog Day Summer
Upon my return...
Soaked in the salvaged balm
Of Dog Day'd summer succor;
Fruit
from the nectar of mere mortals
Withers 'neath the breeze
Of fragrant almond trees.
Petals, scarred-over and
Sacrificed, reap their penance;
Propitiation dies so leisurely
As July smiles in utter silence.
Soon, one spies an arid landscape
Imprisoned in the dried-out parchment
Of daylight's last stammer.
But cicadas still evolve;
And newly minted cocoons
In faraway places,
Take up a rhythm
To their own liking.
Yet, what is it about these summered
days
That buoys up faint fortitude
Into enviable remnants of honored homage?
The scorched barbed wire
Of tendered earthly labors,
Languidly melts away balmy nights
That are (still) far too short!
But do you not
Hear it?
The scent of summer
Is mouthing gentle platitudes
Newly worn and weary...
Somewhere, latitude and
longitude
Reverse themselves:
Making ready plans
For a future escape.
Thus, when such time
arrives,
(As it always does)
Count me among the mourning
throngs.
And when I return,
Once more,
To the exhilarating premise
Of May-day nasturtiums
Grown swiftly from seed,
Sprinkle a bit of fairy dust
Among nature's unguent;
My time is getting
shorter.
Poem written by L.P.-Grenn
copyright 2015
