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