Time Released
August garden smells the
perishable odor of winter
drooping daisies and downing hollyhocks.
Halitosis of the season.
Browned blossoms leave me
with a time released feeling.
[August 1 marks the end of true summer in Iowa, and I begin to mourn. Family business spins invisible threads of possession around my heart, but soon it will be time to go.]
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