The door of my home is opened and through it
The summer day is fading on the walls those dusty
Wooden planks soaked in rays for moments and through it
I step forward and into and around the corners as if I were
The sun on the horizon gleaming bursts of rays in those
Sullen corners through the dusty wooden slats.

Take seat and watch the completion of day finite resting thinking
Of a summer day spent among the hills of granite and pine
And all the dreams of day complete and spent jumping creek
And taking rest beneath green aspen or discovering
Caves or basking in the sun on granite spires.

Now exhausted in an enlightened thought
Sitting in my home resting with the sun fading into pale colors
On the walls thinking very carefully as the colors grow paler
A pale blue to grey now like frozen lines of shadows
The strangest colors of summer, dusk summer dusk.

“To which poet would find joy
In writing about joys and for why?
If summer is season it should
Be second thought to fall.”