Summer Nihility

Today, I crossed Scrivener Lane
alongside a Pieris Rapae
whose creamy petaled wings
traveled up Palmetto Street
with my steps beating
to the very rhythm
of her flap.

August holds the last of you
when Nuptial Molt
bore the Mallards’ fate
and the days when my body
ached with millions
of tiny pains
for you.

I root for paper memories
to remain one
with the windshield
now welcoming the day
the wind would take it away
along with you.

I’d like to think you wake at night
and think of me
only my mind is not as free
as you wish
and my fluttering
no longer concurrent
with your stride.