I break the glass of the hour
And pour out the minutes
To sit at the feet of summer;
Earth heavy with lingering winter shards;
I have waited for the spin around
To come to this season.
Do birds lament the crowded beach sky?
Damsels, dragons, flying tigers and zebras;
Dog faces, painted ladies, nymphs;
No see-ums, spotted ladies, and
The jailbird ticks and mosquitoes.
Do these flying things collide the way our cars do?
The buzz, whine, call, mimic,
Cackle, sting, bite:
Undulating jewels, iridescent capes;
Aerial acrobats flying tandem,
Waltzing, patrolling, and perching;
A circus in the sky
And sometimes in my eye.
Who am I when summer comes?
An earth creature with mock dominion;
Wingless, rooted, and grounded
Ponderous flesh amongst ethereal and gossamer
Lightness of feathers and wings.
Summer is on the stage
And at the end of the show
When the curtains close,
Costumes are thrown off-
Delicate dragonfly wings
Are left shimmering in the garden
Faded luna moth wings
Stick between screen and window,
Ragged fritillary wings
Sit atop an orange mum,
Buckeye wings glare at me,
And a monarch still dazzling
Lies still in the driveway, leaving
Not for Mexico.
Discarded and forgotten wings
These gifts are collected to pin to my heart
That I might rise from clay and skin
To soar through autumn, winter, and spring.