Cruel winnow and falling flail,
hail the size of Scotland
taught July a lesson
that August begs to forget.

The new moon arrives early
and the spawn begins awry.
Fingerlings feed on parents
and the new moon lights the sky.

I fan my gristled self on my front porch.
Fallen ice makes light of July:

Confetti
from the grinning god
who introduced you to me
too late.