Learning again to unwind time
from its branches. The lupine in the hills

dead-headed and dog-tired, barely a spark
would send us up in flames. I have grown

another day wiser, but of course
this isn’t true. I have grown another day

closer to coldness, have taken up the fight
to keep tenderness near the surface

while the trees shrug off the summer fog
and the Matilija poppies brown

like eggs too long in the pan. Even the bees
have forgotten the ecstasy that was merely

days ago.