A Fond Farewell To Summer
Dawn Watcher
September 30, 1993
Sometime during the night
a thunderstorm breaks.
I awake and walk through the dark house
on tiptoes.
On the porch I sit and listen
to the cicadas and the trucks, miles away,
groaning on the highway.
A wave of rain washes over the sound.
The first morning bird twitters faintly.
It is not yet time to add human voices.