In August ache was ageing on bare peepal trees
bleeding through eyes, nose and mouth
as watery wisp or crimson canary.
In August you visited friends
while I confided in strangers
In August you were wearing wings
while catching a flight
or sailing on escalators
while I leaned listlessly on lifts
and took rickety buses, that was peeling its paint.
In August I dressed
in a nine to five folly
to repress solitude's spinster act.
In August we e-mailed
and you called daily
telepathy was the transition
in our voices so vulnerable,
In August defiance doomed to an early death
marvelled at how a continent
and a six hour flight would never let us meet
first and last awaited.