a poem for august

a rough cut written on ilford lane on 16th august 2023

you or your friends are distant/ or busy or distant and busy/ or close but busy/ or distant but close/ or some mix of proximity and occupation

you’re dining on a bed of memory/ flicking through a new litter/ of grey hairs and unkempt promises/ of the rectangle cradled to sleep/ by your hands

there is a soft hand on your chest/ no pressure/ the world turns/ a piercing chorus of separation/ google the reedbed/ all longing smells the same if you get close enough/

‘the scent of bread at dawn’ and other mysteries/ the sorry song of a wandering bird/ and the increasing cost of electricity and gas/ teacher says you don’t worry about your rizq/ its guaranteed

cats outside a beautiful doorway in Kairouan, a few steps from the grave of Ibn Abi Zayd Al Qayrawani. This photo has almost nothing to do with the poem, but I needed a nice thumbnail