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August Sestina By Ken
Shiovitz Numbered days of summer grow late, Now enter the month of August, Sun so hot it could melt a glacier, Northern flora surpass anticipation, Defy the zodiac Virgin, And submit to events they do not dread. For it is only Humans who dread That they will learn too late, Compare wilderness to a virgin, And label sullied spirits as august, Disguise frailty with the anticipation Of salvation, before the next glacier. But our lake was formed by a dam, not a glacier, And at first, it is only sizzling asphalt that I dread, Bathing suit beneath my pants in anticipation, On a hot back-seat denying that again we will be late For a frolic across the beaches of August, While Dr. Dad councils a patient to remain a virgin, Or administers medicines to an ex-virgin, As Mom does her errand at the pace of a glacier, Doing their best to waste another day of August, And I watch the waning sun and dread, At best, one cold dip, then picnic so late, That the setting sun devours anticipation. Years later, the night sky will define anticipation, As I imagine unveilings of my own tender virgin, To which stage, like beach trips, I arrived late, Learning how any son can melt a glacier, If he does not immerse himself in dread, But rather, in the joyous growth of August. For the blueberry bears its fruit in August, Then drops dry seed in anticipation Of coming winter, never withering in dread, But seeks a patch of soil virgin, Moistened by water from melting glacier, A bed nature makes to emulate. Sun of August, shrinking glacier, Anticipation encounters dread, Dreams of virgins, never late. |
