Or the sower sowing in the fields—or the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
A heavy harvest of peachy gem and wing, like an August harvest of fragrant fruit.
Sterling silver, fine silver, silver solder, enameled copper, acrylic, heliodor crystal, peach moonstone, vintage turquoise, Pecos "diamond" quartz crystal, peach flower petal, Io moth wing.
dismemberment, weeds do not
hesitate, the wheeling
rise of the ailanthus halts
at nothing—and look! here's
a pokeweed, sprung up from seed
dropped by some vagrant, that's
seized a foothold: a magenta-
girdered bower, gazebo twirls
of blossom rounding into...
Tufts of amethyst and silver spring from green wing and twirling blossom, like an overgrown vacant lot.
Sterling silver, acrylic, tourmaline, amethyst crystal, nightshade flower, preying mantis wing.
Makes three stripes of silver
Or copper and gold
Or shattered sunflower leaves.
A shattering of sunflower petal and sky bright gem and wing make rivers of silver and copper, like sunflowers blooming and ripening on the roadside.
sterling silver, fine silver, silver solder, 14k gold, 24k gold, sapphire, emerald crystal, turquoise nugget, rose cut quartz, fire agate, rutilated quartz, glass bead, sunflower petal specimen, swallowtail butterfly specimen.
It is the weight of blue in the hot Sky; it is the Dog-Star strengthening the Sun; it is the Earth, weary of summer, that drags the peaches low for easy harvest. The birds will announce when they are ripe. There is enough to share; enough for jam and cobbler; enough to stand and eat, dripping pink from the elbows, in the cacophony of midday. Picked of fruit, the branches heave in relief—the burden of abundance has been lifted, and the jewel beetles will finish whatever is left.
Summer will be over soon—dusk comes earlier and the cicadas’ hum is more intent. Even if the vacant lots are tangled in the purple of feral flowers and curling weeds, of insects flirting and fading in the August light; and even if all of the roads out of town are lined in wildflowers—there is something in the air that whispers of frost. You can watch the sunflowers blush in the effusive twilight—a shamble of glowing petal, ravished seedhead, and bedraggled stalk—and be sure that summer is everlasting. But then the cicadas insist again—summer will not last forever; consume every moment.