Poem for the end of summer

"First Sign"

First Sign

What divides 
     shadow from light 
          begins to soften. Notice

the shape of the shade 
     as the day contracts. 
          And how the blue hydrangeas

bunched beside 
     a pale brick wall
          sink into the watery glare 

of a lucid dream. 
     This is the first sign.
          The new season 

stealing along 
     the periphery. 
          And isn’t it a prayer,

to notice 
     what’s noticed?
          The prayer, 

the practice, the way 
     one walks through 
          an unimagined world.