End Less Summer

O wall of heat, blast of purely sensual, carry this message across the murmuring villages -
O bad news, its bitter certainty between the teeth, a swan song come to call -
O end of Summer, and her echoes of ends gone by, how do I measure this proof of life in fading light?
O Tessa, tumbled in torn and turning waters, chasing the last in churning repose.

The strolling glowworms of the ending embers
The heart of the valley in so dense a mist
The springs of heaven & her illusion of give -
The answer is again and again and again.

When, with the turn of a wind, long shadows are nailed to our quickening footsteps,
Tongues are tightened and the branches sway: "Speak low," and "Whisper not."
A wave breaks on lowly shores, and it is gathering time.
In the sweet spiralled smoke of encampments' remains
what we have found? Or: what are we not missing?