How I long for your wide open sky.
I long for your sunbeams and your rain—whatever falls into my mouth,
I will gladly take in.

August. How I cling to all your pasts
and all your uncertain futures.
I cling to your promise of ever ever green
and I wait at your doorstep, naive nymph from nether.

Was it for nothing, August?
Do I keep you on my tongue and never in my heart?
August. August.

Endless pastures and lightning-laden nights. Your fleeting love speaks through the dark.