Dusk Approaching

Summer moved out.
Packed up her stuff,
Took her heat and exhilaration
But left the sun,
Maybe accidentally.

So it continues to hang
in the ripening sky.

Surely she'll soon realize her mistake
And race back to tame it.
Shove it in her suitcase,
Only to bring it out
when the earth again needs cheering.

For now it sits,
leaning back behind the mountains
As it always did.

Our children soaking up the last moments of afternoon
in the pool you constructed.

I sit on the deck to watch them.
You appear behind me with my grey sweater.
Instead, I wrap you around me:
All the warmth I'll ever need.

We watch the sun nod off
And feel our bones creak and whistle with the wind
Washing over our bodies like a blanket.

Little soaked spirits enclothed in towel
rush by us, seeking comfort and rest.
But I hold tightly to your arms
and silently convince you to wait for the stars to appear.

And you hold me, even though we are both shivering.
You point out the common constellations
and then take me inside,
Wrap me in our fresh linen sheets
and cradle me to sleep.

Tomorrow morning, the sun will be reclaimed
and replaced with
harsh, brilliant
Fall.