Fallen Apples

Searching for summer.

Where did summer go? She seemed to run on through.
Porch lights burn longer, illuming white aluminum.
Orion rises sooner--perhaps he also wonders.

Where did that good lady go? She performed precisely,
fastidious in fine detail to forest fern and violet.
She stood steadfast with stars and was kind to fishermen.

Still I wonder, and I search for her. And in my concern
for her present whereabouts, I allow my selfish craving
to surface, for she retains those pleasures I desire.

Elusive Miss! What hideaway have you found?
Would that I could see you one more time,
and face-to-face attest that you are honoree,
more than a simple replication in my memory
romancing me from yesterday.

Indeed, the panorama shifts, and despite
all dreams and hopes and instances of desire,
any ruminations remain unaided, as brown leaves
and fallen apples signal a new season.

18 Lines