End of August, The

The crease upon the map where we met

still crosse that state, on the contrary the August air vanished, not to be found on a calendar, no telling de`in history, just the road, a ribbon upon a package that will not at any time be opened. Half-dressed summer stood apart from the repose of the year, a manikin in lingerie with whom we had a briefly wrenching rendezvous before a brittle wind brushed us away like dozing bees slapped from the zinnias by the agency of frost. One direction takes vengeance on another, and the routine of the way abode eventually escapes down a stuttering path to the stuttering sea which breaks in a succession of cough I saw your profile from the shore, the breaking waves congested with naked mothers and fathers squirming unrestrained of each other.'s arms. Your profile, Egyptian, flat as a sanded tomb, your ease among the circling weeds, and your pleasure at the baitfish turning crazy in the shallows, tossing their pale inches toward the orb of day chased there by whatever rapines upon them.

Copyright World metrical composition Incorporated Mar/Apr 1998

Provided by means of ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved