Twilight, late July

In the apple orchard it is already dark,
though down by the road the last stem of day flares.
I walk the dogs in the Janus-faced shadows.
The moon rises from mankind’s doubts.
You can live with sorrow
If you walk with your face open and your hair light.

~ Stephen Kuusisto

The poet has a new book, Letters to Borges; lovely work. And a big h/t to Lance Mannion, who first posted this.

This time of year the Northwest is deep blue with those shadows, dark, knife-edged under the brilliant moon of midsummer; the sort of shadows that hide lovers and fools whose madness and joy and sorrow drift across the warm night like memories not yet made.

The Last of July

One July Summer

What has happened to summer,
That's what I want to know.
Is she on a vacation -
Who knows where did she go?
Tell, what was she wearing;
A zephyr breeze and rosebud
Or grass and wild berry?
Could she be honeymooning
With spring or early fall
Or has she gone so far away
She'll not return at all?

Dorothy Ardelle Merriam