The Beast of August
The Beast of August
It is gone — the beast of fire
has broken its spine
on iron storms.
We recover in dry walls.
There are ashes to be cleaned.
Some argue the date,
the precise day,
when the burning circus
finally rolled off
the pitch and patch of bald yards.
This side of the river
ferries carry shadows
from morning to evening.
On far banks
there are rumors of ice birds
hunting still blazing fish,
over raw nipping waves.
~~~
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