#108

As Summer Dies

Late summer loosens gold into the soft dusk,

his breath of heat unbuttons the cool wind now;

Green listens, is starting to bleed

into the red of leaving time—

The summer’s dying.

A raven taps my window like a bell once,

when autumn pours in marigold and cinder;

The orchard hems the dusk with thread,

two crows begin the seam of night—

feathers and omen.

You stain my mouth with smoke and clove—rain falling—

our breath in a cup of persimmon wine drunk;

Leaves loosen into flame and song,

curling their burning vows to ash—

all falling to ember.

At Mabon, golden scales lean into night, soft,

we bind doors with candles, wheat, and sweet roses;

We call our dead by name with light,

and lay them bread and wine to rest—

the veil so thin now.

See branches die like antlers dipped in incense?

Cathedral ribs comb winter into music;

At Samhain, ravens write our names

in rime across our skin of stars—

Love lives through winter.

— Marni Fraser

0827.2025

Image by Marni Fraser • Indiana 2025