Wednesday

In August




me, you and a marriage of high hill to cloud
and endless sky.  Leaves heavy in the last
green bitten now and then with small dashes
of yellow touched ever so lightly with red.

winds still warm enough to turn my face
into, glad for the sweet caress.  A foot slips
into river water with ease, glad to be cooled

as careless as a fish way too small for the pan.