SONGS AT THE END OF SUMMER

  How long

  can I use grief

  as a compass?

  The gold's always mixed

  in with the soil,

  with the shit.

  All that pride

  was always meant

  for burning.

  In midflight

  a small bird will close its wings

  completely,

  trusting its own momentum,

  trusting the air.

  There are things

  you need to say

  to yourself first

  before you can say them

  to anyone else.

  Cricket pulse,

  heartbeat,

  call in the green thicket,

  hidden.

  It's not true

  that you're being punished

  for loving:

  it just feels like that.

  Six geese on the grass.

  Five bend their long necks

  to the ground

  but the one at the center

  is watching.

  (Originally posted January 31, 2008)

  To contact Adriana Scopino send an email to steve@stevebloompoetry.net

  He'll pass your message along.