the way a summer day
lingers, and the night, too

a golden thing won’t go–
some minutes are a life

of possibility,
the breeze shakes the shades

and sunbeams shift
on the floor like seagrass

underwater, ephemeral,
summer, how many ways

it could go, or stay, first
cool of evening, but still light

out, birdcall and voices
from afar, and summer fruit,

the lazy sweetness of it all,
each hour rising up

like super-heated air,
the mirage on blacktop,

contrails, first stars
and crescent moons before the sun

even sets, too full, too
full, what hour could contain this