sets in before the fall.
Through waning days I run the dawn
by tidy lawns refreshed with dew.
as memories reconstitute
old seasons born so long ago
in stain and sweat and schoolboy pride
forged from summer football trials
in heat and pads on high school fields
that to young minds must surely yield
triumphant Friday nights to come
if only August days would end
at last in break of fall.
Those Southern rites of passage echo yet
in aching muscles one-time strong.
They burn inside my body
decades on as by degrees
the morning dark seeps into day
and evening light melts away.
Locked in August once again,
the weeks pile up as all await
the break of heat that snaps the spell
while age and darkness creep, encroach,
and claim their share of fading light
for passage into fall.