The wave
of August’s summer breeze
carries on its crest,
whispers of the fading day.
The wind
has turned
toward fall’s embrace,
and with it,
night’s frigid fingers
touch those held snug
beneath the sheets.
Ducks practice
flying in a vee,
bare arms now look
for sweater’s softer sleeves,
and sun,
later lifts its head
to greet the day.
I sit and savor
every blink of every eye,
and every sparkle of summer sun.
For now I know,
as each day
races past its noon,
it will be over,
far, far too soon.
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