Enough

Enough
 
On the cusp
of next
I spill a little water
into the drowsy earth,
drink the rest.
Now we are married,
earth and I,
to each other,
to the What Is,
to the What Will Be.
 
A dog barks,
the cat yells from the house
through the screen door
to set the seal.
It’s not summer anymore.
Not yet fall.
How many boaters
capsized today
crowding, rushing
into the past?
I’ve made the libation,
made my vow.
Cicadas drop the veil.
 
 
S. Robbins, September 6, 2020, from Readings

Category: Poems, series    

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