Summer burns away the last of its days like campfire memories.
Let's watch the flames turn into poem banners.
Let's float our dreams on the wings of monarch butterflies.
The sun dips lower in the morning, hides behind buildings it once challenged.
The light dons the quality of soft rain, blowing from all directions.
Afternoon shadows bend toward the equinox,
then lengthen onto your bed
where a gray cat
sleeps on an Indian Blanket.