Waking August

                                                                                                                                                                         .

Steal me from dreams.

My head

is lifted by

words you never spoke aloud,

only whispered into the fog.

It took a while

for me to hear,

for the heat

of this late summer

had filled me with old memories.

 

Thoughts that came and left,

like itinerant lovers.

My mind was made,

a pure distraction.

Then I heard your voice,

like a cold shock,

a word disturbing.

Touched me like a hand

in the darkness,

startling me from my

hedonistic slumber.

 

Awake now,

but for the moment,

tepid.

Still trying

to blink the sleep from my eyes

and discern the shape

of wanting.

Wanting to seek you out

and walk with you

in the way

of all things liberated

from the land of dreams.

 

Sun set

and sun rise.

The August fires

burn into September.

Soon, the trees alight

with their color,

and we begin to nurture

the embers within.

No time for dreamers, now.

Harvest comes

and with the bounty,

darkness.

A vein of time

we should awake to,

like the sky in late summer.

 

 

HG – 2022

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