Once in August

No cake, this time, for us.

A broken fifth sounds hollow, but right;

My company this sedative night –

A cold bright beam, gives off no musk.

Perhaps the climate is to blame,

(surely, feelings can’t be lame)

Or else, the stars.

You know – they fall in heaps these days

And no one ever bothers.

Just now I’ve come to think  –

The peaceful sight of constellations

Was  there to teach us stargazing, contemplation

And not to walk the brink.

To think otherwise would be a lie

We who’ve never been to stars up high

Have saved ourselves a lot of empty falling.

As for others, it only means, this August,

there’ll be no restless groping,

no waiting for a streak of burning spark.










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