August

The rain didn't fix the heat, it just made it heavy.

The asphalt is breathing steam into the screen door,

and the shirt is already stuck to my spine.

This is the month where the air is a levy

that breaks every time I try to do more

than sit in the dark and wait for a sign.

Everything smells like wet dust and hot grease.

You left in a month like this, when the light

was too bright to see the cracks in the glass.

Now I just wait for the first cold release

of a wind that might actually put up a fight

against the yellowing weight of the grass.