August is moving like a slug
Second half of the warmth is
here
Summer’s ardent beam is a
grind
The popsies tan brown
Fodder bleaching hoary
Bringing the hush and fury of merciless noons
Waiting for the heat to pass
But the tick of the clock from a far-flung floor
Paints a scene of growing grass
Not anytime soon
Humidity is whistling a tune
I won’t sit by and whine or die
Or join the trapped travelers crying for rain
No bitterness bends the hand of
time
Its a pleasure that you’re here
But I dream of heaven
I dream
of a little bit of autumn
a k o s i l e 