I open to the sunlike a flowerlet the heat wash over meburn me, even,bake my tender bitsand dry me outburn though I mayand even dry and witherthis is no moth’s dance–
no dart and retreat from
flickering flame
that ends in glorious flaring death
no,
this is surrender
suffusion
saturation
this is summer:
a last season of flower
and fruit
before the fall
poem and photo (c) 2016 D. Ohlandt
please only reprint in entirety and with credit given
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