On lost green days between
rainstorms and running, we can hear
the sounds of rest.
A pink shroud covers
your face, and you turn away
to listen to wind chimes.
Somewhere under my fingers
I hear golden wrapped wires humming
together. It always felt like
the sun sets gold and pink
behind closed eyes, the summer-day
heat settles above your skin
after night rolls in shining
down secondhand light. So rest in cool grass,
and while somewhere in the
distance a band sings for
a rooftop bar remember that “forever”
is a lie that rots, and that
“for as long as it can last”
is a much sweeter truth. I look at you
and hope that this summer
is the death of me. But gold-laced
summer ends. It ends on warm
rocks and cool skin,
it tastes like reverb sounds:
sticky and just shy of rotten, it ends
with vibrations in my chest
that I can’t place the source of.
Eventually I will miss the sweat of solstice
days but I am tired of burns…
turns out that I was made for the type of sunlight
that sings in-between rainstorms.
Dane Fogdall is a 23-year-old writer and podcaster from Colorado. His poetic work is published in the journal Images from Fort Lewis college, Juniper Poetry, and is set to be published in Pour Vida. Additionally, his creative non-fiction is published in the Fall 2018 edition of the journal Borrowed Solace.