So how's the weather?

High summer is a fleeting time.
And the pleasant coming of autumn
is the coming of a going.

Against the darkened purple sky,
and the strident columns of light,
and the empty bells,
winter settles,
staid but alarming,
like a slow slap.
And it lasts, bare,
it lasts and lasts. In its absent
presence it is completely
present
as if there were an internal relation
between the concept of desolation
and that of eternity.