I am not deceived, I do not think it is still summer. I
see the leaves turning on their stems. I am
not oblivious to the sun as it lowers on its stem, not
fooled by the clock holding off, not deceived
by the weight of its tired hands holding forth. I
do not think my dead will return. They will not do
what I ask of them. Even if I plead on my knees. Not
even if I kiss their photographs or think
of them as I touch the things they left me. It
isn’t possible to raise them from their beds, is
it? Even if I push the dirt away with my bare hands? Still-
ness, unearth their faces. Bring me the last dahlias of summer.
The author’s work can be found in the volume, Only As the Day is Long: New and Selected Poems.
Think about how the poem made you feel. Do you love the beauty and the novelty of seasons, but hate the real consequences of the passing of time?
May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you again tomorrow.