Fresh green’s showing
through the dried stalks.
Pumpkin vines
are withering away
from their plump,
green-grey fruit.
The last of the chestnuts
are gathered wearily.
The swan plants
have been stripped
down to their stems
and green monarch chrysalises
hang on the lemon tree,
slowly darkening.
My tongue presses against
the roof of my mouth.
The last handful of blueberries,
warmed to full sweetness
in the heat of the season,
taste of hot sun,
of summer swimming,
of the new baby,
of the newly weds,
of dancing under the stars
of singing and laughter.
