Now that August is coming to an end
twilight wraps itself around the olive grove
earlier than days before
and after five the sun sinks into the sea
with an almost unseemly haste.

The evening breeze is still mild
but carries pockets of cooling air
like a lover who is preparing to leave
waiting for the right time
and I sense the beginning of a melancholic loss.

The village’s lane is dark,
yet the moon is full
but doesn’t reach into my heart
that aches with a longing for the past,
those days in May
when the future was moving towards
a never-ending summer.

Farewell, take flight on sunny wings
away from northerly gales,
I shall enjoy my autumnal walks on tousled tracks,
but in the lee of carob trees
sense your presence
and ask the lucid sky for another summer day.