Late Summer Lament
When feeling turns, finally, into burden
there is shame and a moment
known in human terms as letting go.
This happens often in late summer
in a smoky clearing, bee-cloud brooding
gilded lace beside a tent.
In the end, a sleeping man can blend
into a hare softening in the briar,
soon to alight from dreaming.
Therefore, let grief along the drab zipper
be temporary. Think
of the owls loved more dearly—
one off stalking another forest, or resting.
Trophies in some branches,
archaic and everlasting.