The Metrics of These Moments

Summer is still with us
Sticking slug-like to the fingers
But the parable is reaching its midpoint
Deceptively
As the pages flutter in the hot breeze
Through the monthly chapters
And almost imperceptivity
The metrics of these moments
Are appearing.

I love them dearly

As they tell their old time tales

But still as they unspool and unwind

They pace this story

And so such glory

Compels a feeble grasp

A finger to mark this place

Then finally a chuckle and a smile.