I’m settled into August
with its warm softness
watching the molting goldfinches
who gather on the upturned faces
of my ripening sunflowers
maybe they feel a kinship
with the golden petals
mistaking them for wings
sprouting from the ground
folded over a treasure of seed
maybe it feels like returning
to that first nest
where dandelion-bright plumage
and open beaks
meant they were home
now they cling to the nyjer feeder
while bumblebee wings
slowly lose their gleam
and September inches closer
with its crisp, harvest moon
it started with a yellowing
as if sunlight exploded from hollow bones
to shine and shine and shine
until we slide past midsummer
into the inevitable twilight
and the goldfinches began to turn
the color of desert sand