Summer End

Don't go yet, don't, don't go yet.
Stay a little longer in.
The hose laid silver on the grass where we ran with Bethy Klein.
Ice melting in a blue cup, dripping circles on the scene.
Your sunglasses on the chair, catching one last band of sun.
I can hear the backyard quiet,
Where the good days come from.
I still see the watermelon red on your thumbnail glow.
The neighbors' radio fading as the evening starts to fold.
We were saying "tomorrow" like it was a joke we knew.
But the calendar is turning, and it's turning us too.