from the archives of last year...
Listening to the end of summer.
In the evening
when cicadas' cry
gives way
to crickets' sighing.
The breeze blows gently,
its younger, warmer self
still lingering in the air.
Far away the whirr of car engines
hurtles off into the night.
Nearby, the screen doors
creak open and close
with a plaintive whimper.
While the woman chides
the man for throwing "them" out
and the mother shushes
her child from asking
another question about loneliness.
Along the wide cement runway
outside the apartment doors,
the bigggest, baddest
dragonfly of the summer
attempts to stretch his wings once more
his tired body scratching
against the end.
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