Days go by
I am stuck,
I am stuck in the dark
There is not a soul in sight

Not a day goes by
where I'm not
waiting for a light to
guide me
which direction to go in
and how to get there

I ask for you,
myself
to be that light

I am in love with the way you avoid me
It reminds me of myself

in December? Naked and
bare. No colors at all. Stripped of
everything. No one making their home
on your branches. No one climbing
your trunk. Cutting you into logs
to warm their ranches?

Do you want to be the trees
in June? Green! Green! Green! With
babies chirping away. Providing shade
on a lazy day?

Do you want to be the trees
in October in bright, bold colors? A
work of art, raining orange, red,
and gold. Creating a delicate quilt
that unfolds?

The cool breeze of the spring.
                     I'm the withering trees outside in the fall.
   I'm the serene lagoon, where beautiful swans
                         f     l     o     a     t
                                                    upon.
I'm the  
                   g         moon that bewilders your eyes as you
                 n                                                                ­                    
              i                             ­                                                             
   ­         s                                                       ­                                       
         i                                                                ­                                    
     r                                                                ­                       fall asleep.
                   I'm the sun you cannot look at
                                          in the  b r o a d  daylight.
                  I'm AUGUST,
                               who soon will be a FULL moon.
                         But I first have to become the
                                         sunset
                                           as
                                            I
                ­                            
                                    ­           f
                                               a
                                              l
               ­                            l
                                            .
                 ­       I have to carry swords in my back;
                        I have to keep wan der ing like
                           a hermit, until I am
                                             found.
                              Until, I have truly found myself.

                                                  -Augus­t