Labor Day weekend, and it is a stunningly beautiful Saturday. I intend to spend as much of it outside as possible. So, here’s another poem by Louise Gluck, another called Vespers, actually, and from same collection of poems, “The Wild Iris.”

Vespers

By Louise Gluck

End of August. Heat

like a tent over

John’s garden. And some things

have the nerve to be getting started,

clusters of tomatoes, stands

of late lilies–optimism

of the great stalks–imperial

gold and silver: but why

start anything

so close to the end?

Tomatoes that will never ripen, lilies

winter will kill, that won’t

come back in spring. Or

are you thinking

I spend too much time

looking ahead, like

an old woman wearing

sweaters in summer;

are you saying I can

flourish, having

no hope

of enduring? Blaze of the red cheek, glory

of the open throat, white,

spotted with crimson.