.
It's over you know, the summer's over.
Clouds of dust as the last vehicle went out.
A jeep hauling a small boat on a trailer
Through the dust of the grey country road.
Patterns of tires, patterns of cast leaves
Printed in ashen dust
The next day clouds of snow, the crumbled sky
Falling and settling on the trees
Of the bare abandoned forest.
They have all returned to the city, while I remain
Sorting my summer notebooks:
Drawings of tender plants begun in the spring
Pressings of leaves
Which are prints of tough early autumn, before
The rot comes that thickens
The floor of the woods.
And what lies beneath the snow, the needle duff?
Cities of pebbles and crushed shells,
Kingdoms of beetles, republics of worms,
Forest of hyphae, tangled mycelium,
Roots of trees coming upon each other
In the dark.
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