Late Summer Flowers

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Nearly unnoticeable, night’s reclaiming
of minutes, hours, old domain.
The late summer flowers
persist, defiant blooms in the dead heat,
in humidity so thick it can push
one to the ground.
New shocks of petals scream into being,
yellow, orange, white, pink.
Even my weeds are blooming,
vines climbing up the railing
and depositing flowers
into my hand.
These August gardens arrive
in the fullness of time, unhurried,
not bothering with subtlety
or mimicry of Spring’s softness.
These plants are born to die quick,
grow thick, trumpet an end to summer,
temporarily.
A final fling, a pressing warning
to breathe full deep, to splash in the stream,
to lie half-clothed in the dirt and see
the heavens wheeling
amid crickets’ symphony
before it is too late.
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