August

I'm looking for hummers in the roses
pretending the fat bees,
clogged with pollen, like gold dust,
hold as much beauty
as those tiny, dewdrop birds
I'm staring at the sky
looking for spectrums, arcs of color
but I only see the steel clouds
grey as gunmetal,
blueing in the middle
sliding, like tar, over solid sky,
covering this August scorch
like a roaring savior
bringing their curtain of rain