Mimosa blossoms are falling,

pink stars upon the ground.

A greatest turning point has arrived,

no fighting it.

But Beauty tumbles on; Steller’s jay pecks

into the plump dense seed of a hazelnut

still wrapped in its ruffly green,

his strong feet holding it against a branch.

I hear him, though now he’s standing

on the arm of a towering black oak.

A man living on the streets sings

while he walks the sidewalk along the fence.

Triple digits again today, most will be hiding

indoors

as long as air conditioning holds out.

Nothing’s the same.

That’s alright,

Same was a comfortable illusion anyway.