Two Worlds

Two Worlds

And what would you be in the other one?
The same engine, that stick of grass, the
Same smoke rising over town?  A shadow
In a window, composing its
Answers to July, and August,
And the entire beguiling season?

What would you step into and how do you
Imagine it?  Colorful, as flower prints
Or more like a negative with all its secrets
Cryptically encoded?
And though you have watched one or two
Close friends fade slowly into the August light,
And imagined a hush and a slight swaying,
You think it may also be
Loud and garish and unbearable.

But always it must be in August,
Because August sways and leans its back
On doors, and on the cottonwoods, issuing
Its goodbyes day after day, into a light
That has begun to recede from this one.