I’m huddled in fleece and the August day
drips around the beach umbrella. Sip hot
coffee and my pen’s poised, ready to play
while a cicada chorus tymbals thought
away. Begone, yon military jargon,
jarring my harmony. Honcho brings
uneasy images of shooting stars
without a clue of how love’s tuning zings.
So here I sit, respectful of the way
we fumble, heads filled with pizzazz we tout.
Our cries I can’t augment denial’s bray.
Time to create, reflect what’s in without.
Featured image an amazing sunset that ushered out July.