Summer Squash

There is hardly a day when the rains
Of the past
Fall upon the gardens of hope.
And soak the roots of tomorrow.

Summer squash and cucumbers
And the beer that cleans parched soil
All march together down rows
Of ego and id
To inexorable returns to
The fundament.

Summer showers and estival smoke
Make light of the sauna sun humidity
And we laugh in the face of west Nile virus.
Therein is our love of change and
even if we think we'd like to live forever,
we know that it's all temporal, and the chanterelles of our youth
Will fruit again in the moistened copses of oak and hickory.

So let us all never fear time or its passage,
and be only concerned with
how we swim in its current.