Week 7 – August In July

August In July

It is my favorite part of the summer. 

The air gets chilly at night, 

Like fall is reaching out the window and blowing kisses onto my cheeks.

 

I watch the sun set over Classon Avenue.

The street is quiet as Sunday mornings, 

The moon shines on my back as the sun sinks beneath the skyline.

 

It gives me my life, it gives me my words. 

For the first time in a long time, I find myself writing. 

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Day 23 – Feathers

Feathers

There is a small patchwork journal in my lap,

I climb flights of stairs to reach the roof.

The sky is is the kind of blue only poets see today,

The cherry blossoms, the rough tiles under my feet. 

Hearts of wood and water. 

These are things worth fighting for.