The Lateness of Summer

I
The Japanese beetle straddles yellow stamen,
with wings of corroded bronze,
devours my roses from the inside out.
He hangs in obscenity,
jeweled clear to the thorn.

II
The male crickets listen with their knees,
sing with ribbed wings on cow patties,
gormandize rye grasses.
While everything is dying they are procreating.
Nymphs bury themselves in the sand until spring,
release,
full grown Gargantuas
appareled in brown livery
by their fathers.

III
People say, "I used to know him once but now he is a stranger".
But look at the sheets,
unwashed, a soft spot on the downy pillow
where your head once was.
Remnants of musk and old skin.
Now I know you completely.