September by Deborah Landau

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—