It’s only cool enough to walk come sunset,
mosquitoes buzzing tinny like the wires
overhead. Evading thorns, we pluck berries
from summer-warmed vines. Peaches, these blackberries,
and the strawberries picked out back at sunset –
they drip summer taste, sweet as sun, sharp as wires.
I thread each tart-sweet memory on wires
like beads: each velvet peach, the ruby berries,
even the whining mosquitoes at sunset.
Come autumn rains, each sunset strung on wires
Will wreathe remembered warmth, sweetness, and berries.
A tritina, my first.