One by one the sleek bathers will leave.
The fiery autumn sunsets will linger on the sea,
with one sad skiff—and still
we put off the rain, the rampaging winds,
still we put off the inevitable (for how long?).
Already yellow leaves pile up on the garden benches.
Perhaps, uncelebrated on its hill, the chapel to the Holy
Trinity remembers us. Meanwhile, here in the house,
the floor is littered with summer sandals
and little Persephone’s big blue towel.