The title came to mind, and seemed to fit, beckoning an immediate silence
from nowhere: an extenuating phrase,
'Summer grinds slowly to a halt …', purported
as it's cause, seemed irrational, bizarre;
and emptiness faced the poetic yen:
my eye falling, the title like a spring
once more read a defined relevance, quite
the chute to wonderful infinity
opening like a flower in my blood,
the rustling trees its bright circumference! -
At least, I said, I can rest here awhile,
dip into this preternatural calm:
seeking no causes, asking no questions.
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