August in the golden grass

that crawls the levee wall

she kneels and peels away my mask

she swells up in us all

they say a fruit will drop

after the rain rises

and falls

but in the fog

the river sobs

and mournful whistles call

the heart can take a beating

and these shadows can dissolve

in August flames

and heavy chains

Jingle jangle slipping off

— Lily the Street Poet
August 27, 2015
New Orleans