September

Dazzling emptiness of the black green end of summer no one running in the yard pulse pulse the absence. Leave them not to the empty yards. They resembled a family. Long quiet hours. Sometimes one was angry sometimes someone called her "wife" someone's hair receding. An uptick in the hormone canopy embodied a restlessness and oh what to do with it. (How she arrived in a hush in a looking away and not looking.) It had been some time since richness intangible and then they made a whole coat of it. Meanwhile August moved toward its impervious finale. A mood by the river. Gone. One lucid rush carrying them along. Borderless and open the days go on—