The longest
day of the year collapses
into darkness
hours too early. Another bout
of extreme
weather rumbles
through—tears trees
from their roots
like a cat
shedding for summer. Power
lost, flash
flooding drowns
the whimsy
of solstice
ceremonies. Dances
over the river
cannot stop it
from spilling over too far.
These are
elastic skies
that won’t snap into night
before it’s time to pause under
the cusp.
Expectations for the long arm
of light to cradle her—better
yet jolt her—into a wider frame
can only lead to one thing:
disillusionment
that after tonight everything begins
to shrink. Or, there’s another one: relief
that summer is poised to stretch across
the best spills and spans.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 