Our limbs are tired, sinewy
from gripping
slipping remains of a dying summer
Exhausting its last breath
as we grab
grasp its thinning sultriness
A push and pull
leaning
toward losing this tug-of-war
Wherein we pull one step back
and get pulled
two steps towards crisp, orange autumn
Ever defiant, we stand ground
fists in air
pumping to pulsating rhythm
Glasses raised, shouted yes’s
rip through
humid air like sunlight to foggy dawn
