Last Pantoum of Summer
you stood and swept the summer from your hair;
bright sunshards caromed in the sea; you read
the cirrus script and sighed; the sharpened air
blew sand and whitecaps—time is short, you said.
bright glitter gamboled in the sea; you read
some lines from Thomas bearing on our fate;
—green and golden, time is short, you said;
the sun burned low and dusky, growing late,
but you had left as summer turned and died.
the cirrus thrust like daggers through the air;
I huddled on the beach and watched you go;
you turned and swept the summer from your hair
like shriveled leaves—a wind began to blow.
