Jubilee
A summer of loosening threads,
commemorative mugs,
and a fox that stalked the cabbage patch,
the running track,
dissembling its size at will.
The sun swooped once, twice,
and was off,
whittling blades of grass,
pooling in the collar
of a barrel-chested, cleft-chinned boy
who got the girl and lost her
while the folks who lived on the hill
veered into a solipsism
they had foresworn. The biding spider
should never have migrated
from its tongue-and-groove niche
to the brittle copse that beckoned it
but left no footfall unflushed,
all privacy exposed
by dropladders of dust
raying through gloom beneath the leaves.
Birds and bees hover-climbed,
rung by rung,
shredding webs, daisy chains,
and other sacraments,
which, as it was September,
would not be rewoven until next year.