August already: time to see summer before it sinks. Beneath bountiful branches I stand and watch the sunlight soak through green and breathing leaves. All around, like fog in the trees, alarm clocks ring beneath male cicada wings. And look: a current of slick, black ants flows down the dark drive. Sometimes I stop to hear the waterfall gushing from my window fan, and sometimes I want to pour it all into words, lingering to love what can’t be kept. Copyright 2000 by Brian Dean Powers Published in 2002 by the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets Photo by the author
August ends, humid and hot but that's not stopping you from hauling yourself up hill after hill. Off-road, across the grassy flat of a football field, you stride with light, silent steps — though your pace in this heat is more jog than dash. The run grows in its slow and winding way, flourishing at last on the path to Picnic Point. The trodden ground is dappled, sunlight blazing radiant trails through the leaves overhead. The breeze sprays you with the fragrance of apples, strokes your sweat-slicked skin. You dodge and dart over tree roots and rocks, breathing easy, immersed in the spread of an incandescent day. Sunlight runs among the treetops on photon feet.
Copyright 2004 by Brian Dean Powers
Published in Echolocations: Poets Map Madison by Cowfeather Press,
and in 2006 by the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets. During 2014, the poem was
displayed in the Reflections: Madison photography and poetry exhibit
at the Monona Terrace Convention Center.
Public Domain photo at commons.wikimedia.org