The 8th Month Lingers

Tripped over a book in a Jen Campbell video and fell down an internet hole to the Pretty Owl Poetry site, and further tumbled down to this image and the instructions to create a poem from it:

Heat leaves an impress of the year

The mold set by summer's muscles

Pressing us into the shadow

Of a bow.

Summer breathes and you reach

To hold its golden head, feel it

Rumble like a passing

shadow growl.

The year is set, it turns, goes

Over the fairy hill where bells

Ring doors closed,

sits down.

The eighth month lingers.

Summer makes the time.

Comments

Turn Away

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A Weed on The Curb

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