The hounds of summer lie in the shade of stilled swings,
their ears splayed upon the wooden porch
as though listening for sudden hoofbeats of memories
or the dripping of rains yet to be.
The cats watch them curiously through mere windows,
their heads tilted in bemusement
at perceived follies or perhaps contemplating
a certain pounce, lessons to be taught with sheathed claws.
They adore each other, although it is an impossible gesture, humans swear
(they were never told, or never agreed to the prejudice,
so it does not enter their tender natures).
The fruit is drooping, falling from trees bent with weariness
at bearing such delectable weight upon their thin branches.
The bees hover, their drones perceptible with hunger
and duty for their queen, who is restless at home in the stickysweet hive.
Jade butterflies descend upon red spheres hanging low in the garden,
awaiting the ultimate pluck - they remain unable to taste the meaty salvations,
so lift off in search of a willing wildflower to surrender its final nectar.
Autumn is swooping in from a casual distance,
covering the fields with fiery colors thick with drenching.
Love’s rhythm pulses through the landscape,
huge with pursuits of amber knowledge,
fragrant with fertile secrets below the mist,
as yet to be discovered
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