August

Images of August seep from

My skin, stretched along fields

Of grass and poppy flowers blooming

From the dirt underneath my

Fingernails. They're burnt from fireflies

I let soar around my hands, wings dying

As they dropped to a starlit

Earth. The moon carved her name

In their constellations, and I looked on,

Waiting for someone to carry me

Away from this slumber. If I sank

Into the muscles of the ground,

Would anyone ever find me? Maps

Would be needed to navigate the waves

Of cattails and weeds surrounding

The heartbeat of this meadow. Music plays

Along to the pulse; is it only me

Who can hear it? I wrap myself

Around the sounds of the sky and sleep

Until morning threatens to break me.

Ripping away a shell of perfection

To reveal a painted mask, I let myself

Dream of August.