September, throughout the day

monarchs linger at the stonecrop,

slipping in and out

of green turned coral light,

 

while the few days left of summer

fall to oceanic breezes,

the spent rage of tropic rains

lately cast against the windbreak barn

 

holding still, as pocked green apples

ripen on our last tree kept

from the wreckage of other storms

that left us 

 

wanting something lasting,

something firm against 

the weather we’ve made ourselves

and must endure.

 

Copyright 2021 Anthony Paticchio

Used With Permission

 

Anthony Paticchio is the Poet Laureate of Ashford, CT and member of the Sierra Club.