The Last Days of Summer Before the First Frost

By Tim Bowling Tim Bowling
Here at the wolf’s throat, at the egress of the howl,
all along the avenue of deer-blink and salmon-kick
where the spider lets its microphone down
into the cave of the blackberry bush—earth echo,
absence of the human voice—wait here
with a bee on your wrist and a fly on your cheek,
the tiny sun and tiny eclipse.
It is time to be grateful for the breath
of what you could crush without thought,
a moth, a child’s love, your own life.
There might never be another chance.
How did you find me, the astonished mother says
to her four-year-old boy who’d disappeared
in the crowds at the music festival.
I followed my heart, he shrugs,
so matter-of-fact you might not see
behind his words
(o hover and feed, but not too long)

the bee trails turning to ice as they’re flown.

Source: Poetry (April 2011).

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This poem originally appeared in the April 2011 issue of Poetry magazine

April 2011
 Tim  Bowling

Biography

Tim Bowling is the author of In The Suicide's Library: A Book Lover's Journey (Gaspereau Press, 2010), which deals with Weldon Kees, Wallace Stevens, and book collecting.

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Living, Life Choices, Time & Brevity, Nature, Summer

Poetic Terms Free Verse

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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