Crickets then report the cooling, and you can open the windows and emerge from the darkened house, and go sniff the last few jasmine blossoms. Their reminder of spring is like a balm, soothing the fever late summer's fury brings. August never goes without a fight, but go it must. September is waiting.
Sunday Verse
Let's Move All Things (September)
by Denver Butson
everyday sir etceteras the wind whispers that it recognizes us
the trees hold out their handshakes the stars twirl around the sky
like bubbles in a windowsill glass everyday trains go through tunnels
like fingers through rings like scarves through a magician’s fist
birds lift up like stricken punctuation marks
sir everyday I take my fistful of minutes and bet it on the wrong horse
if I weren't so scattered now sir I'd run around the block
in my new sneakers I'd show everybody how high I can jump
I'd learn to whistle all over again and I’d whistle
even though I can't really whistle
everyday sir the sun tells us what the moon did last night
how she sat in front of a mirror
lamenting the dissolution of herself
and we retrace our steps looking for something we've lost
even though we can't remember what it is we once had
we try to recall forgotten phone numbers
so we can dial them and hear voices
that belong to faces in photographs
we can no longer identify
I don't know about you sir
but I wouldn't mind a good fistfight about now
maybe a natural disaster to shake things up
I don't know about you
but sometimes it all seems like squealing car tires
with no crash at the end
we wait with faces squinched up
shoulders raised – for what?
I don't know sir.
