Crimson Summer

Let us climb into the smooth

Lusty branches of the copper beech tree

With its wildly bent limbs and whispering leaves

And reflect upon the summer in present tense

Even though it's been a long time since

June. But as long as we are here

And the sun is sinking slowly, drawing

A drawn out breath on the distant hill

To rise again after hours of rolling around the

Mountainous, treacherous earth, we can pretend

That rust is the color of our freedom

As it is that of our hearts. Let the clouds be our

Only curtain and the stars our only barrier

So that we may be honest with ourselves

And our thoughts as vermilion sap drips

From the tip of the pine bough, to the hot

Thirsty ground. We'll pretend that summer is

Our season and that the faded ruby stains of

Wild black berries only leave their obvious splotches

In circles on our palms, never filling in the cracks

Of life lines and fingerprints-- identities

That couldn't separate us anyway.

August is carmine and hot as a simple touch

With something else implied. There are

Two weeks and not enough days before September

And the cool breezes it brings are upon us. But

As the trees remember scarlet, yearning for heat that

Always ends too soon, I will hold onto a piece

Of sweltering weather I prefer to leave behind

Because I don't want to forget the cherry kisses

And rosy glances that kept me up on

Red velvet nights dreaming of holding you close

In days to come, when I was already tucked tightly in your arms.

There never was enough time at all

And certainly not enough time for red.

The End

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