End of a Season

The air is scented with exhaustion

from a summer completely spent.

Maples arch rounded backs against

the sky

and begin to shed their golden

modesty

to blanket the fainting grass.

This corner of the park falls silent,

except for the breathy wind

laboring through the chapped leaves,

whispering of a quiet June kiss

under full, moist boughs—

a kiss that, like the leaves, dried in

summer sun

and blew off in the first gust

of September chill.