The last monument
to summer
sits on a shelf
in the bathroom
in front of a picture
of Puerto Vallarta
where I hope to sail
someday
The last monuments
to summer
are drying in a bucket
in my garage
instead of following
the sun
on it's long lazy arc
across the deep blue sky
The last monument
to summer
is filling up
the green wastebin
and I look at the stems
brittle and brown
and the seeds
drying
and the last smiling flower
promising
long summers to come
I'm waiting
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