Mid-august; when
it feels like the leaves should be red and yellow
but they are still green and
it is still ninety degrees
Sometimes I feel like running away.
Not to anywhere in particular, just not here.
Mid-august; the last time
I told someone this they begged me to stay, said
"I'll give you anything you want,
just don't leave me, please"
left me feeling like a bird in
a cage, like food stuck between
the teeth of something larger
than I, like a frog in God's own throat.
When I left I felt early July humidity
the lightest air that's ever
weighed me down
I hold my breath.
As long as I can come with you.
Mid-august; no birdcage.
All feathers and feathers and
                                                feathers.