august at night

an upright fan recreates the summer breeze. shades pulled, doors unlocked, a light in the back bedroom left on.

august nights no more, she said. goodbye, she said. she said she could see me again when winter comes.

take that with you to bed each night, that goodbye, i say. take it with you and leave the light on when you sleep, i say. take it away from here and this browning landscape.

wheats torn down to dirt and bundled up high and sent away over oceans. august at night is my november back home. with light trying to sneak away without a goodbye.