August longing heats

the quiet terrain of solitary bodies.

August longing radiates

cells that ache with thirst,

parched, dry tinder.

Skin, not as tough as bark,

ignites under touch electric.

Stoked and stirred by hot fingers of wind

encircling,

caressing,

filling in,

drawing out.

We burn for days.

We burn for months.

We burn for years.

We are burning now.

Smoldering cores of coal.

Lover’s kisses quench the moment.

Earthy blackberry crushed on lips.

Salty blood-licked thorn-prick.

Callous hands meeting softness.

We smell of cottonwood resin,

of river rock,

sun-baked minerals.

We listen intently for the call

of water at twilight.

Entering slowly,

savoring coolness.

Our roots,

our hearts,

our crowns

emit steam, rising.

We immerse

one and two,

becoming one, then becoming three.

We are multiplicity.

We are transitory.

We are fluid,

playful dreamers frolicking like otters,

our eyes reflect the starry seas of our birth.

We are wounded

warriors seeking

the medicine of touch,

love healing,

willing community.

Community willing the will–

the will to resist,

to undo violent behavior inherited, learned,

the will to cultivate what does not yet exist.