Poem for the End of Summer

I posted this 3 years ago and have been getting lots of Google hits for it lately. When I read the poem again it haunted me for days--as I suppose the end of summer will do in the echo of dry stalks and frozen aster blooms in a month or so.



Embers



Poor summer, it doesn't know it's dying.

A few days are all it has. Still, the lake

is with me, its strokes of blue-violet

and the fiery sun replacing loneliness.

I feel like an animal that has found a place.

This is my burrow, my nest, my attempt...