Labor Day Weekend

The dying light is ever the same,
Borrowing the last hour of summer
And giving it a date and name,
Matching it with familiar shadows,
Or returning with rain showers
The resonance of last year’s rain.
In this neighborhood and others
Families come together
With one less leaf on their tree
And one less place at their table
And change goes unnoticed
Like a waterglass handed to a child,
No sooner the moment offered
Its own transparency vanishes.

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