my poem from the last Yemassee -
Summer’s End
Noon wounds me with its bees, its burning.
I weary of the season, whitewash
and blind arrows.
The sun has come to steal my outline,
come to sort me,
stretch me along its javelin.
It says, succumb, when
already the heat is lurching south
in one long exhalation.
Every night I’m more in love
with sleep. Closing my eyes
I let each blue dram
trickle back into my iris.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
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1 comment:
Nice, Sarah. I remember this one. Love what you have done with the last two lines, which are either revised or newly discovered.
johanna
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