Ocmulgee in August

“In Betweeners” Volume 8

It’s cool for August but

not cool enough for me.

I’m sweating in the shade, ensconced


in pines, oaks and corpse tables

where school children come to

eat and laugh


at some joke or another-juvenile.

They do not sweat.

There is no laughter here now;


the children are gone.

But I like to think of them

and the wonders they perceive


in this ancient, hallowed place,

stolen and steeled; renovated and

reinvented. For minds much too young


to entertain the circumstances

that brought them here.

But there is something they can see


that I cannot; a dream

dreamt suns and moons ago.

One that’s never lost.