August Serenade

The August moon is gibbous. Watch it fade
behind the chilly marble colonnade
of summer’s temple, where an autumn wreath
of red and brown lies on the stones. Fogs breathe
from dew-wet earth, from empty forest glades.

In early August heat, in summer shade,
we sat together sipping lemonade
and spent the evenings walking underneath
the August moon.

I miss your touch. I miss the tune we played.
As summer ends, I find myself afraid
of autumn’s rains and winter’s icy teeth
and spring seems far away. Alone beneath
the temple columns here, I serenade
the August moon.