But for now the night remains mild, and the crickets are still singing their loud songs, and the cicadas buzzing. So maybe that's not Autumn lurking under the trees. Maybe it's a touch of melancholy coming on, presaging the ennui the dog days often bring. Perhaps I'll turn morose, and do nothing but lurk in the darkness myself. It's been known to happen. I become bad company for myself, and worse company for anyone else. If it happens this year, I hope it doesn't last too long. It would be a shame to waste the mild evenings and all those stars.
Sunday Verse
Anatomy
by Gilbert Sorentino
Certain portions of the heart
die, and are dead. They are
dead.
Cannot be exorcised or brought
to life
Do not disturb yourself
to become whole.
They are dead, go down
in the dark and sit with them
once in a while.
