August 2

comments 5

unvoiced words cast
as shadows

or wilting in the face
of the predictable response

or echoes of echoes
and all this weary smoke

settling over the city
towers and spires

the blood speck sun
thirst is nameable

but this is


the cloud distinctly a face
suspended over the far valley

blowing out a bellicose wind
and from the summit we watched

smoke churning up like
smoke there’s nothing else

so plain-spoken
yet indirect

billowing up
and then the mountains are gone

benign but no
it isn’t


dry-mouthed waking
it’s fine

it’s fine it’s fine
it’s August

just like that
and gets hot early

trudging up the hill

I break
into a sweat



  1. There’s a thread in this poem of something uneasy and ineffable – I love that there’s a word to describe when something is beyond words – it makes things less scary – makes us less infallible – because obviously we’re not and that is something we’d be foolish to deny. Once again dear C, the weather plays upon a poet’s mind!

    Liked by 1 person

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