Poems [AUGUST]

[1] 6.01.17
Today is warm

and the birds outside my window

hold their wings wide and swarm,

to the shade of a tree.

The field of a farm in its colors of

gold-green grass,

with heat vapors like foggy glass

in the distance: a barn.

Its silver-sheet metal facade,

gleams sharply in the solitude

of the silent field.
I sit on my roof and flip cigarette butts

on my dreams.

[2] 10.08.18
It is August: Wind;

Sunlight is dancing

in the spaces between whispering leaves.

The ground is still bone white,

dry and tight.

The weather is still a wight,

dead, cold, and at this stage: old.

But, here and there: color;

pink peach blossoms, white elderflowers.

But melancholy stays: there are no flowers with me.

 

 

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