Last of the summer skies
trick us into repose
sleepy wasps sting indeterminately
leaves fall like ash clouds
Summer waves goodbye
I murmur images
try to describe a life in random phrase
moon bays governments topple
teeth drawn knives sharpened.
Here in England’s fallow fields
husk of corn scrapes stony ground
sky high and wide with summer song
autumn glowers from over the wall
and we pretend nothing’s happened.