Dusk lays hazy and heavy 

on lazy fields of muted green 

separated by a wanderers winding

saddle of worn gray

and August presses down 

like a warm cloth

pale blue filter

swallows her color

reminiscent of winter

her heartbeat scattered

flickering sky


and there

I grieve—


how many more

and dare I think upon

the ones before

I dwell here

though transient 

ahead and behind