A Poem- for August 
Through wind I follow the sky.
Few cumulus clouds as well.
Dropouts to absently plod
about the dream pool full 
of an otherwise transparent
evening. Cardinal shadows
for lonesome crows. Such is
the veil weeks after gaugeless 
rain, when bare grass tastes
of recycled stock, pine planks
light as cardboard, barn burner
flint ready to ash. Come a brim 
countryside harvest but this
above, this empty cup, rinses
days from these fields gone
blind from chrome in the sun.

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