Light in Summer

Near summer's end, I pause 
under the fig tree while checking

for ripe fruit, arms encased in my 
denim jacket to blunt mosquito 

stings. My horoscope talks about big
changes coming with the new moon, 

if I can keep focused at the same time
that I allow myself to pivot when new

pathways reveal themselves. In truth,
no star can know the exact shape and 

scope of what lies ahead; and I don't 
want to know. I just want to hold on to

what light ribbons down to us—older 
than time, but also new and unattached.