Tag Archives: August

Slanting

Who knew, at the bend,a long slant sun would meet me, we’d eat a burst of tomatoes at night, already in shadow, a wall of sound, sonic cricketslike monks in saffron robes  lined from here to the mountains,soft, soft their silken … Continue reading

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What Augurs, August?

I always feel trapped by August, its thick cluster of vowels.  Clotted.  Lugubrious, made for a lazy tongue.  Made for  limbs given up to the sun.  If it were a kitchen sauce, it would need to be thinned.  If there … Continue reading

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