"This high summer we love will pour its light.
The fields grown rich and ragged in one strong moment,
then before we're ready will crash into autumn
with a violence we can't accept, a bounty we can't forgive.
Night frost will strike when the noons are warm,
the pumpkins wildly glowing, the green tomatoes straining
huge on the vines.
Queen Anne and Black-eyed Susan will straggle rusty
as the milkweed stakes her claim.
She who will stand at last, dark sticks
barely rising up through the snow,
her testament of continuation.
We'll dream of a longer summer, but this is the one we have.
I lay my sunburnt hand on your table--
this is the time we have."