In quiet August

Air so heavy

gallons of fog and sweat

grass on the cusp of fading

a breath means laboring

tossing the head back

to look up at a hazy night

yet the stars persist

(I named one after you)

we can stare until dizzy

with music implied

while we stand still

amid a spinning world

limbs heavy / dreams light

wondering if we’re close

to finding a place to land.