An August Poem: The Letter Z

Fern, moss, and jade
Quilted trees and
Property line strings.

Contrasting teal
Of ponds and

Hovering hot air balloon
Weaved basket, floating
Oval parachute
And flickering fire
To raise us higher.
The back of our necks sweat.

We land eventually
Our stance returning to ground,
Traversing grasses and weeds
And drum beating against sidewalks.

We pass by gardens.
Our ankles wave
And toes say hello.
They dodge tossed mulch
Like forest logs.

Brown speckles
Amorphous smudges
Invading pink petals,
Swallowing rosy blush.

Blotches fan
And expand
Across the weakened

A mind like
The month of May,
A presence like
The month of August.

Old but not
Aged but not
Tired but not

The bumblebee abandons.
The rabbit leaves.
The bird goodbyes.
The leaves prepare bags.

The campfire extinguishes
The fox fur flames
Lunge back into the woods.

Stomachs heavy with s’mores
Will clamor again tomorrow
And ash will kiss the dew.
Flannel shirts will suds in the washer,
Smoky scent dispelled
Orange blossom,
Vanilla drops.

Ghost stories
Have been left to the wind.
Constellation crystals
Take a final spin.
Summer scrubbed from barefoot memories.

All things end.

A season or a story,
Winter and a February romance
Summer and a July horror.
A conclusion for something new
To ring.


Lips to blow out a candle,
The letter Z.
The summer alphabet ends.

But the sun will always set,
Again and again.

2 thoughts on “An August Poem: The Letter Z

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