August feels like a deep inhale before the year tilts toward fall.
—Carissa Potter

We feel the tilting, the planet beginning
its annual lean in this hemisphere,

the trees already letting go of their shade,
though summer has not let go of us yet

in our neck of the woods. The deep inhale,
we find, is September, the final month of heat,

which could nudge its way into October—
fire season going easy on us this year,

which we hate to say, tempting fate,
knowing how flames can race through

our world at any time. Still, we inhale
the swerve toward fall, which ignores

the calendar, having already overtaken
other places, calling for sweaters and jackets,

which those of us still sweating long for,
while others feel our lizard selves

soaking up what we can as long as we can,
storing it up against what is coming—

whether we like it or not—
what is surely headed our way.