August creeps in,
bringing wild winds
and blackberry bleed.
Shivering leaves flush
come clement night,
when the skies are alight
with shimmer stars
and the ruby wink
of a hazy Mars.
This month is ours—
the last gasp of warmth
before autumn arrives
with the brisk whip
of frost and a sun
gone shy.
We sit on our balcony
and watch a hummingbird
ripple, sparkling green
in the late evening shine—
this moment’s mine,
the possession of passion
and a pocket of time.
Every perfect person owns
just two hundred
and six bones—
but if they wish,
they could claim the tides
of their heart
and the flourish
of life.
For as long
as the mind whirs,
it can own
what it likes.
Though it’s true
all our bones
will rest dumb,
dark, and damp,
we can claim
August for as long
as we breathe,
dream,
and dance.
pm poetry 