Poem for the End of Summer

Where are you?

A cricket cries

Again and again

Under the light

Of the waxing moon

Over here

Comes the
Irregular reply

From the edge of

My perceptual field

Above the fan's
Whoosh and whir
Ever so faintly I feel
The heavens wheeling

The still point

Of the turning world

Is turning still

Every cycle and season has

Its beginning middle and end

Over parsecs and eons
Of continual forgetting
Every something becomes

Nothing and soon enough

Becomes something again