What's Certain In August

What's Certain in August

Blackberries, ground fog, and the way old ones

say for every morning’s mist this month

there’ll be a solid day of snow in February.

Against heat, the dog and I walk early,

leave behind foot-darkened paths and a thousand

silver filaments of broken spider silk.

Such industry from the invisible

spinners and weavers, night after night,

multitudes stitching the solitary things

of the world together, leaf to limb to starry

barb on rusted wire. The dog’s out front,

nose down, tail up, tracking what’s fresh.

I can’t stop looking back. Even this late,

long grasses straighten once we’ve passed.

From HOW TO WEAR THIS BODY (Terrapin 2017)