August
A layer of spice coats the street
steam rises
heat clings in eddies
behind the knees
inside the elbows
salt and nicotania
opening at dusk
Ghost tears shed
the fabric of twilight
hot music spills
from open windows
into the street
a wash of regret
billows in the slipstream
On a porch in the dark
someone watches
lightning bugs court
voices drift
someone playing scales
switches to a melody
a laugh track soars
Street lights take up the dark
the odor of dust hangs
under the ghosts of elms
where sidewalks lurch
in the sudden silence
that someone goes inside
a screen door slams
– helen ruggieri