The first is for his birthday.
It is quite the month to be.
When August steps out
From behind the slumber
Left inside me once again,
I question the entirety of cliché
Massing up around my feet
That trips me as I live.
And August sits easy
In my mind where it lies.
Ten weeks out of San Francisco
Is where I am tonight.
Ten weeks away from you
Brings me to the first of August
With a few more weeks to go.
What was I thinking
When I thought I'd make it through?
What was I feeling
When I felt so much for you?
It's just two more questions
Which strike me tonight
While I sit up late
Listening for the rain.
And a million lines
From a billion poems
Could never justify
What happened to you and I
Or what is felt here in August.
Ten weeks out of everything.