this summer feels more like autumn
when life cringes from sweeping gusts
of winter winds and broken promises
when blades of grass no longer need be cut down
but wilt of their own accord

this summer feels like
falling
during a dream
and waking up
before hitting the ground

this summer feels like a final chapter
but life will not give me the satisfaction
of neat bookends
or denouement
before crashing into finality

this summer feels like a sentence fragment
i figure my leaving
a hyphen
punctuating the end of
everything.