Equinox

Daylight or darkness, what you hear Along about this time of year Is, mostly, vague and feverish whir,

September's nervous idiom— Brief rest, reiterated hum: Little enough is left of summer.

Cicadas, katydids keep on; The blades revolve across the lawn For the last time, or last but one.

The knives are duller, but the sense, Sharpened by an intransigence, Insistent rather than intense,

Feels heat subside to warmth, and light Draw in before its opposite, Feels terror in the temperate.