Lateness is all that shimmers in the leaves,
that trembles in the bending grass,
that glistens on the berries on the vine.
Even before the final glut of summer
there is an inkling of the coming wine.
That special warmth of sunlight on your cheek
is a last kiss, the silence in the trees
is one last breath held back before September
sharpens its shears for pruning and a chill
unpolishes the surface of the lake.