Faint bewilderments
accost you in late summer –softly split you into two:
one complacently continues
to enjoy the view,
a prospect which the other
is too nervous to pursue –
haunted by forebodings
for which none of what the sun
voluptuously does can offer solace:
some strong stream of doubt –
an incrementally increasing
August steam will out –
some subtly staining, dangerous,
inevitable sweat – some threat
of fate will surely turn the season’s
bright illuminated loves into
new species of attenuated hate.
You hold your selves
in fear and reassurance
through the night –
benign with the malign –
waking to discover neither
one of you was right.
.
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