August

How many Augusts
have I squandered?

How many gifts
have I left unopened,
deserted, by the door?

This fearful negotiation,
this unforgiving give
and take,
is now mistaken for me.

It is too late now
to let my hair down.
Offer it like a ladder
to where you want to go.

I must be the heart
of summer.
The most unrelenting
heat.