Lift the sash, let your pale
leaves taste the late summer
air. Welcome the balmy
wind, all pollen and dust
settling on sad arms of
empty furniture. Hear more
clearly the dove’s lament,
beauty and sorrow, a home
remembered from last
night’s dream as the owl
drew close, the blue jay’s
taunt setting sparrow eggs
trembling in their hidden
nests. Now, go ahead, raise
a stuck window, breathe in
the breath of August that kills
us and lets us live in this life.
Nels Hanson has worked as a farmer, teacher and editor. His fiction received the James D. Phelan award from the San Francisco Foundation, and his poetry the Prospero Prize from Sharkpack Review.