I know
summer is falling
and the geraniums are fading
and the basil’s gone to seed, but
the sedum is greening
by the back fence
and I’d like to show you
how purple it will be in autumn.
It’s the velvet
of a winter plum held ready
in a hidden limb, the russet flame
of ice wine on the tongue.
I know
the wind blew the dahlias down
and the music is tired as thin milk
and it’s raining again, but
I’ll make you tea
with the last of the wild mint
and I’d like to show you
how rich it is at the end.
It’s the unplumbed well
of amber summer, smoke of cobalt
and sun-warmed linen, a vintage
too strong for young veins.
Stay a while longer
and drink the mint with me
and maybe the next song
will be a good one,
and we won’t pretend its easy,
but if you stay awhile
I promise
I’ll stay too.
-s. rochelle
