The glow of you.

Sunset on your face.

There is no erasing that moment from my mind.

Feet walking,
Old soles, new soles,
In the gravel and up wooden stairs.
Brown knuckles gripping rails.
The dust is kicking up again.
and there is August  sweating down your face,
Gold sun on your forehead and shadows of the willow tree painting pictures on your skin.

There is no wind here.
But [chaos] skirts are moving, hair is swinging, arms are wielding against
a clear blue sky.

A circus of American Flags, men
parading.
I can hear 102 degrees
sweating on the floor.
I hear nothing else at all.

There is silence in this chaos,
all in the glow
[a sunset]
of you.