Drowning in the Long Day

Green is almost gone now;
tussling with this long day
that creases shadows of sunflowers,
still tossing their brown and yellow heads.

The meadow has dried,
mowed under and stomped clear
are the delightful dandelions.
They wait beneath the heartbeat
of the whispering wind
to become again.

How glory-full it feels
to let the open window stay all night,
letting in the sounds of summer children
until it’s almost dark with laughter
and slammed doors.

What time is night,
when the moon is so still and awkward,
the porch light reaching into the dark
with fingers like ghosts wanting company,
electric blue and eating sleep?

Today the day will stay
long into the fingers of twilight purple,
making amethysts in the river
before leaving once more,
drowning the bottoms of things
until the current rips hours
and time stands still.