Edward

19

August Cantrip

Glimpse!

That lemon finch-
There's the reason we let the coneflower mass
and rough into a lavender bramble.
Always, the third week of August
(Far before the page dates summer's end)
the listening finch hears
October uncurl.
Some wildcard pitch
a grounder, down Saturn's baseline
sweeping sheer chill out to
Ender's Bay
urging on the shadows.
Heed!
The feeding finch preens
clouds, unseeding.

That first, bracing rinse
laves the sky blue bright
cleaning the night air, over and over.
Still!
The waiting finch calls
swift notes,
achingly sweet
clues to its betrothed,
Hear it!
Dropping seed husks to the ground
a breadcrumb path to winter.