"Here and Gone August"
Leaf green’s the shaky scrape of a tree’s
arm
raking against the window.
Brushing back and forth
with each and every blowing breeze, gust or gale.
These the humid doldrums of here and gone August.
A tree's hands can be so thin,
his arms are sticks.
They look anorexic.
It was in the summer
of yes
that I learned to live.
that I learned to live.
