August

Sunday sky, your greys and whites
And fleeting hues of summer fade,
To make way for an early autumn dusk.
The alley ways are dimly lit, now sullened
By your submission to the rite,
A wane of light that leads the soul to stray.

Sunday night, you've taken me,
With opiate surprise, your dreams caress
The darkness of my eyes,
As they brace like battened shutters
Against the thoughts from which
They cannot hide.

Sunday respite, you cloud my mind
Like morning fog, a memory I can feel
With the coolness of dew upon my face.
And yet I cannot begin to embrace
The passing days which remain
In clusters of unsettled fallen leaves,
Like dreams not quite forgotten
When I awake.

© 2003, Jennifer D. Lac Kamp