The last day
of summer gets forgotten—
rafts and dinghies
already stored

in garage rafters
for winter. Some kids
starting their second
month of school. Some years

the leaves are already
turning—not this one.
Grieving the end
of nectarines and plums

over for weeks now. Memories
of swimming
in an ocean or lake or river or creek
in the heat fading

with a full harvest moon
that rose
three nights ago.
She missed it again—but not

the double rainbow that appeared
before a steady mist
accompanied yesterday’s civil
twilight. She won’t forget that.