Your smile is sweet as a stand of sugarcane
at the back of Summer’s land.
Coming in from the fields,
you’ve the whole season at your back.
In one hand, the final days
of Summer are held in tow –
you are the space before the leaves
begin their extravagant ritual,
with cicadas still singing
their song at the back of your throat.
With just the warmth of that tangible place
and never more.
Just the weight of Summer’s final harvest
and just as light as you need to be
to never keep the days from running.