I love how, at summer’s end,
treetops drift away,
the sun wears a broader crown,
light is softer on your eyes,
you see an eagle
in the vastness of the sky.

Your skin also changes clothes,
adjusting to cooler nights,
in which you dream in solstice hours
and sleep a longer dream.

Gold and purple frame the end of summer,
like goldenrod and chicory
growing together,

swallowtails drifting over thistles.

The end of summer
is as big as the moon
over a harvested field.

It’s as small as the old couple,
walking in the distance,
ever more insubstantial.