Rewilding-

The last of summer is delight-

it is as if we have made some vow

to turn in the quiet announcement,

open softly on cool breeze of last night.

Shadows fall slightly off kilter

drawing faces in the opposite direction,

but you are still summer

sweltering endlessly across the brow.

In dizzy mid afternoon retrospect

a forgotten wake of slight chill,

air demands quick opus -celestial mail.

Calliope broad-tailed hummingbirds,

migratory forget me nots

no longer wear ecstasy’s veil;

but you are still summer

in your sweet song fauna kowtow.

Farmers still believe in the land

of season’s change in the charge of man-

cold-cocked trees cut where once nature ran.

Over two thousand years after christ

we live to trace our wake in the world

believing it is the way it has always been;

but you are still summer

growing madder, hanging hotter here and now,

boiling over proteins of man swarm

just as wasps are devoured inside the fig!

Grinding bones sub rosa

flooding defenseless downstream,

the woman is pained waiting for birth

with the rays of the moon beneath her feet.

Harpocrates- breaks silence,-ice age

“rewilding could never be good enough”

send out owl and falcon screeching in rage.

Summer is mad winter wins again.-