“‘Farewell Summer,’ thought Cecy. ‘I’ll be in every living thing in the world tonight.’”
– From the Dust Returned, Ray Bradbury

Untethered from herself,
in her dreams she threads
through them:

A cricket, lacquer-black,
between the wet tongues
of marsh grass.

A dove in the sway
and quiver of night-wind.

Quick inhabitant,
she does not linger–

A fish glittering in the swollen river,
she dons scale and mouth-gape,
repeated gasping.

Praying mantis, she clasps
her hands unaccustomed
to asking.

A half-remembered
possessor,
dust-spice of summer.

Every being has its absences.
The hollows and dips
she tucks in, fingers curled

to open latched
eyelids, nails tapping
the tongue-chime.

She plunges into clamor
kept private. The bark
behind a raised scruff,
and that one, unnecessary,
pleasured howl.