The Hinge of the Year

In July, our time together was impeccable: a walk
around the Common discussing After the Rains,

a film with Shakespearean twists in plot and theme;
salmon and swordfish dinners that I made for you,

with a glass of champagne; our shopping together
at Salvation Army, and kissing in the dressing room;

and there were so many fireflies, we would walk
the back meadow, hand in hand, into their flickering,

to a place beyond that somewhere. In its abundance,
August is sweet with corn and farm-fat tomatoes,

and if you become quiet enough within, you can hear
the hinge of the year turn, feel the snap of surprise

on your skin with the coolness of the early mornings
before September’s beginning and summer’s ending.