August Song

Hear the song of August sung
through a damply cricketed froggish dance
as two cats sit in a window
and one woman reads of another
who dreams of catching autumn.

Hear the song of August sung
as this euphony is split in two
by a semi's thunderous barreling,
as a woman pauses,
and waits, for the roar of it to pass.
Wondering if it will.
Because it seems so grave it won't.

Hear the song of August sung
as just a hint of it, just a whiff
is the taste that makes a woman dream
of flight through cerulean skies, above burnt orange and crimson pulsing,
as the rumble becomes memory and the song of summer night
wraps its body around the house again.

Hear the song of August sung
as a deer languid-bodied by the window
becomes the promise of a violin
and cats stare
penetrating glass
with eyes sharp, as branches
part dark-armed, trembling
in this symphony of the instant.

Hear the song of August sung
as a woman stands
on the porch become concert hall damply
listening to this end-of-summer place,
where copperheads thread
mosaic rustlings
through tangled grass of August green.

2011