End of Summer

Have you ever waited out all the sweatdays
till you're again worthy
of fresh pane-dew
cool as a beer bottle:
stand outside
face against the window.

When fall has left
its cold shoulder to you
again you have to get used to
the zealous seasons.

Winter which snows over every argument.
Spring which greens away others' desires.
And summer which sparkles and smiles and dries
and kills.