CYCLES AND CIRCLES
August promises rekindling. The sun slides
south along the ridge to her torso as she sleeps,
dark hair cascading into the creek at dawn
and sunset – cold starlit nights, she breathes.
August promises oak and manzanita fires,
branding irons for calves swelling yet in bellies
ambling to water. One by one they rise,
released from shade to plod the dusty track
across dry bleached feed, dead roots encased
in rock-hard clay. Few at water at once,
black hides meet in passing grumbles and
salutations – known each other all their lives.
August promises sweet darkness and storm –
thunder and all the churning furies that stir
the flesh and cleanse the soul, wash summer
dust into one more chance to be reborn again.