August-A Sestina
She is
spindly and dry this summer,
Even though rain collects in pools
And forms drinking troughs in leaves,
She cannot escape mind-numbing heat
Or take refuge in the cool of the moon.
It seems like an eternal August.
A cruel
deity's invention, August,
Harbinger of a dying summer,
Refusing succor from the beneficent moon,
Scorched and scorning the blessed pools
Ruled only by the blistering heat
And premature dying of leaves.
Wondering
if it will be she who leaves,
She contemplates the desert of August,
The shimmering glare of a road in dry heat,
Trod by the silent son of summer.
Her parched body heads for sparkling pools
Created by night rain and the moon.
The surcease
she craves, offered by the moon,
Dances in on the backs of green cupped leaves
And she slakes her thirst from lunar pools
Untouched by the demons of August.
At night, she almost forgets summer
And the death delivering heat.
She dreamed
once of passion, longing for heat,
And, forsaking the encircling arms of the moon,
Sought the blaze of the prince of summer,
Becoming immolated by August.
Now her bones are hollow, brittle leaves,
Her eyes haunted and darkened pools.
Small
beasts drink from deep forest pools
Sheltered by long rooted trees from the heat.
They are the wary survivors of August
And loved by their mother, the moon,
They wait out the blaze in tunnels of leaves,
Knowing when to rest in summer.
She, calling
out to her mother the moon,
Wants only to be leaving
The incendiary summer.