all that i am

too cool for august the fourteenth
as if august knows tomorrow's the first day of school
as if it were already september
two sweaters and a jean shirt 
and my nose and toes still cold

warm in the sun
cool crisp air moving thru open windows
far from close and heavy 
and yet 
that smell of holy lingers

as melancholy as a rainy monday
sentimental as they come
a child grown up
in the house over night
seamlessly part of our evening and morning

to market to market
once long ago
the day
he made his first pie

and the very next year
from far away

we watched as summer now older
went forth
and moved on

and on and on

and a year went by
and another day

and we'll see what image becomes 
part of today

the last day of summer



“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, 

the top of the live-long year, 

like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel 

when it pauses in its turning. 

The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, 

and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, 

but the first week of August is motionless, 

and hot. 

It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, 

and sunsets smeared with too much color.”
                 Tuck Everlasting

"August rain: 
the best of the summer gone

and the new fall not yet born

The odd uneven time"

          Sylvia Plath