Summer, Ohio

As these summer days fade I think of the Dogwood,
and its white puffs of seeds scattering through the air
backdropped by the flawlessly blue sky.
They rush past the car windows in a flurry
like snow in the middle of winter.

The tomatoes are nearly ripe enough now
to pick from their stems and simmer
into a dozen delicious thing.
They will grow–I am still growing with them,
reaching up toward the sun,
out in all directions where I might find
nourishment.

It is dark and quiet tonight,
the cicadas have returned to their slumber
until tomorrow.
And when I pull up the blankets, like a cocoon,
I hope when I wake tomorrow I will be transformed
into something other than what I was
yesterday.