Late Summer

when the red-tail shrieks and shrieks
    spinning over the dried-out field
        under a dead marble sky,
when the water is not cold enough
    and your eyes blink and itch
        so you growl at the dog,
know that the fires will burn as they must
    and the earth will crack open
        without love or hate,
understand that the men will try to stop the fires
    so you go water the still-green garden then
        meet me deep in the cave
        and we'll just say, "amen."