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. ~~~