An overnight dusting
on frontier peaks notified
summer to ready itself for
abdication to a new hemisphere.
And still, a fan whirrs its caution,
fall is not yet willing to settle in.
Cicada tymbal and cricket choir
rise behind a prop plane spurring
toward its terminus.
Finally, softness resolves the day
under dowager locust’s lacy arms
gently brushing away irrelevancy.
I absolve myself at this day’s end
without contrition, tomorrow’s worry
dormant as halftone lines and curves
meld into the shadow sky of bedtime.