When you are already here
you appear to be onlya name that tells of youwhether you are present or notand for now it seems as thoughyou are still summerstill the high familiarendless summeryet with a glintof bronze in the chill morningsand the late yellow petalsof the mullein flutteringon the stalks that leanover their brokenshadows across the cracked groundbut they all knowthat you have comethe seed heads of the sagethe whispering birdswith nowhere to hide youto keep you for lateryouwho fly with themyou who are neitherbefore nor afteryou who arrivewith blue plumsthat have fallen through the nightperfect in the dew
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