Queen's Summer Song

I am queen,
queen for an amber summer time
in the dark, red dome of the raspberry flower,
my amber citadel,
that once was white
and reddened with the sun —
I ruled for one red summer
in my full blood kingdom
where the light is red
and the leaves are green,
summer sea among the leaves.

I was queen,
queen for a golden summer time
in the sunflower plant;
I have poured my golden wisdom
into the blackest seeds that shine by night.
Today my full-sun clock,
my midnight face,
was struck:
the oily seeds split
into the burning, bonfire summer
to hiss their way to autumn and to dust.

I am queen,
I am August.
The rose has been blown over the wall
into the afternoon,
the last flower has been pushed from the bud
and the last grape rolled along the stem
and I am listening now to a broom bush
of brown, brown birds
that once was full from bough to bough
with yellow birds and golden song,
but now the yellow birds have flown
and have left behind a rattle of song
to castanet the summer away
and call the autumn in.