August, remembering summer
sees what comes to mind are the nights
roads still wet from the gaze of streetlight
oak tree and power lines divide the sky
moon meets red light
time and fire flies

For weeks, the first three to become one have slept
woken into weak traps
little forces the strength of spider legs
stretch, lean on notes bowed by
no bird,
arrowhead
whole rest
Exhale through the mouth a balloon
sifting through the field who caught
what fell, whose shed

Does a thirsty fire desire death?

A picture-less frame is just that
a hiding place for the hidden
offers an obstruction
which permits the meeting of the out of reach
reaching
the rain is a vertical river
missing desert
A needle to the seafloor won’t lose itself, would rather be salt

don’t listen to the sta
rs, sings the fly
She who wets your feet is the passing of the night
spinning
shadow
perpetuates
Remind me, is it
ok to forget?