Surrender

Mud-slush
of May careened into
July
painting from the sky
the bank time and temp
sweated out the truth of it
one hundred eight degrees.

Six months we've lived close to the ground
porch swing creaking out a
slow heartbeat that
wanted to hang on past
coy song and
fire of autumn night

and did, through that third week
of October when we found ways
to walk on water and raised
smoke signals and dug
fingers into sand.

No denying it though
when yesterday's ginkgo
in one
relentless hour of sky and wind
made peace with passage
and yielded up the last
of her gold.