august

say something about August.

well,

it sweats and sticks
then is gone too quick
just when you begin to tolerate it;

if Sunday Scaries were 31 days in a row;

a sudden carpeting of yellow leaves on green grass — current fall rate: 1 leaf per minute —my instrumentation: a pair of 5+decades-old eyes;

there will be no prolific fruiting on the two black walnut trees this year — and i am guilty with a schaudenfreude regarding the red squirrels;

the starlings stack the power lines and camouflage themselves in the green tree tops
this, a rest stop in their annual migration

those synchronized swimmers of atmosphere,
a singular heartbeat, a murmuration, of hundreds of individuals, these beautiful communists.

i have become invested with the observation and documentation of phenology:

i expected them this week.

phenology II

lilacs re-leaf, re-bloom
in October
hummingbird moths feed,

and simultaneously,

She’s un-be-coming a human be-ing

She’s destined to,

we’re destined to, too

no
need to
tell me, explain
what’s happening

as constant witness,

as constant, remote witness to slaughter,

as constant gardener,

as constant tender,

as constant daughter,

i see.

i recognize.

i know,

“and the [future] memory of snow”

the ticks never slept
the lilacs just awoke
shh! go back to bed
this clock is all fucked up

the roses’ leaves are greening
the kale and fennel, they never died
i hear the blackbirds singing
yet ripe fruit’s nowhere in sight

he thought he saw “our” brown bats
and i’ve sighted bunnies in the field
i’ve worried about pre-emergence
now, these worries become real

february rains replaced snowpack
another cause for dread
the maplesap’s begun to flow
it seems that winter’s all but dead