asters like lace tatted across my yard
lavender & white, pinheads of the not yet bloomed
raining, not raining, this cool gray day
loiters, late summer, not quite fall
I sit wrapped in an L L Bean wool blanket
not ready to latch the storms, light the boiler, admit
that summer’s winding down, winter’s drawing close
fifty to forty to frost, how what greens
flowers, seeds, so swiftly blackens
I rub stalks to scatter seed — mullein, bladderwort
hollyhock — may they settle deep, take hold
burst forth in next year’s cavalcade
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