No News Yet of Summer’s Demise

The lamb chops haven’t come out yet, Somewhere else on this planet is at war, Tree shadows waver, darkness stretches.

I’ve been learning my way around wine, Each glass a hollow cup.

On Donghegong Road

A movie I’ve never seen has finished playing. Leaves turn yellow from the edges,

But heartbreak doesn’t start from the limbs.

I want to meet the collector of road signs But the park gives no hints.

The lament begins—

September’s bugle cry

Flares through civilization’s swollen joints.