[
{
"name": "Top Stories Video Pair",
"insertPoint": "7",
"component": "17087298",
"parentWrapperClass": "fdn-ads-inline-content-block",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "1"
}
]
Every year, an old friend visits, Knocking on the morning door Before the chickens go out. Just for a day, Maybe two.
The old rivers of light and heat, Much alive, cry In their thirst for night, With the promises of fading evenings liquored In the scent of blackberries, Gone stale and forgotten in the hot afternoon.
This crooked summer: Like wilting vines on a broken arbor, Motionless, as they cling fast To the memories of serpentine edens.
Sam A. Flanagan
more from the author
-
Flying to the Desert
- Feb 22, 2024
- More »
Latest in Poetry
Readers also liked…
-
Graduation
- Jun 20, 2024
-
Dear Mr. Biden,
- Jul 11, 2024
