It is no joke to say: "August,
you are a cruel month." Heat
that won't quite quit, be cut--
rend through. This morning,
its last, was already heated at
first light. Rain evaporated
before it had a chance to
settle on windshield,
road, or fingertips.
Tomorrow, September calls:
"Friend, there is always some
one who'll remember." Cool
will come, breeze will blow,
fruit will fall, and crops, crease
& fade. The road that is always
the same will slow. The sun will
lengthen, later. This is my cue.
The past is never really gone.
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