Yash Seyedbagheri: September

through the golden morning

 while the heat hangs above

sun brightens bushes

festooned in flame and gold

though it’s only August

a brief chill rises

and ruffles my hair

only to disappear into

exhaust, sputtering trucks, backwards baseball caps

and piss-colored rubber rafts riding rivers

where are charcoal-colored skies

 soft rains and leaves sweeping in dances

crackling and rising over vast country roads

without crumpled Coors cans and crackling laughs

come soon, September


For more on Yash Seyedbagheri, please see our Authors page.

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