For Sarah

They grew like young girls who gangle
up preteen inches. Now at twelve feet,
not the four promised, gold clusters
splay skyward, resisting my fingerstretch
for these rangy seedheads

as July's lavish blooms start
their withdrawal into a slacker season.
Finches bend down those seed-heavy tops
and, if I leave October to itself,
that pleases bees who cull and hum
around the birds' threshing pecks.

November 2002