Even here where the heat lingers Late into the year, the shadows Of the things we’ve built grow longer, And the leaves of certain trees Have begun to turn from green To golden spades seen trembling In the season’s lessening light. This is autumn in a thousand fires Set while we slept, and a caution To the body that would subsist forever On the fruit of love and loving best: That time is rolling over us and each And every promise, even promised By those parted lips, the fount that slakes With promises, has in the end, its end, And this, and this, and this too…
