(poetry diary 33) I went looking for poems about the end-of-summer (Happy Last Day of Summer, b.t.w!) and got clobbered by this good one by Tim Bowling. As the mother of a four-year-old, the last line made me shiver.
The Last Days of Summer Before the First Frost
Here at the wolf’s throat, at the egress of the howl,
all along the avenue of deer-blink and salmon-kick
where the spider lets its microphone down
into the cave of the blackberry bush—earth echo,