Wednesday, August 19, 2015

August-matter





It moves through us in time; invisible
A shadow that startles the skin of things
Want struggles but is ever unable
To gather the dust of its winnowing
Resistance is futile; its wanderlust
Falls prey as afternoon to crooning dusk
And the foot-looseness in us must soft admit
We are far too small for the largeness of It

…that fits in the sigh of green-leaf good-byes
 A sky-blue piñata spills sun-sweet days
And we are distracted by a disguise
Of backyard picnics and bloom-happy ways
Where bare foot tempo etches an echo
That splashes through the middle of Hello
In songs of spilled lemonade and chatter
Fading in the fabric of August-matter

We are subjects to Change; none are immune
Or rare exceptions to time’s timeless laws
A lifelong study can never exhume
The Past from its place or Present to pause
As we, held to a lifetime of learning
Suffer side-effects of deeper yearning
For Time cannot fulfill man’s meager dust
Save Almost, in half-Heavens of August

© Janet Martin

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