Summer, goodbye.

The days grow shorter.

Cranes walk the fairway now

In careless order.

They step so gradually

Toward the distant green

They might be brushstrokes

Animating a screen.

Mist canopies

The water hazard.

Nearby, the little flag lifts,

Brave but frazzled.

Under sad clouds

Tow white-capped golfers

Stand looking off, dreamy and strange,

Like young girls in Balthus.