August
winds rush past us—
a golding oak leaf clings
to my old sweater as we kiss
good-bye
razed fields
bloom with fireweed,
pods let go of seedlings—
the first day of school, kids line up
in rows
preschool
dragons aglow
in neon finger paint;
winged flames flutter into the sky—
magic!
fireflies
among tapers
of swamp weeds and algae--
the college on the hill, a light
here, there
sidewalk
geraniums;
my knowledge too, grounded,
absorbed from sullied surroundings,
shadows
barbed wire
church revival;
skimming through the scriptures,
a beginning, a middle &
an end
within
numerical
divisions of soul mates,
sixty-six books for the Judges
to bind
