August
by Doug Tanoury

    Late on these August nights,
    I sit on my front porch
    Unable to sleep,
    And watch the stars,
    But mostly I watch
    The wind in the trees.
    There is an elm a few doors down
    That has branched out
    Around the street lamp
    So that the leaves glow
    Translucent green in the night.
    The wind moving branches
    And leaves making it look
    Like a carved jade sculpture
    Come to life.

     
    And I think that this has been
    The summer of cut jade,
    I have never seen grass so deeply green,
    Or trees more ornate in their foliage,
    And the sky has never been painted in
    Finer shades of skyborn blues.
    And I think too,
    That this is what Icarus saw
    And felt just before . . .
    So if my wings fail now,
    Let me fall, for I have kissed the sky
    As if it were a holy icon
    And filled my lungs with the
    Pure whiteness of clouds, so
    If I fall there will be no splash,
    No sound except a sigh lifted
    Airborne by the waves.






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