Come August

Come August ,this body turns a torso with the sacred thread from left to right on my chest slung under a  bare chest cloth.

My lips lost to the  smoked thought, I await a spirit dancing on fire and its assistant wood smoke,a crow to pick up a ball of rice on a glass spiked backyard wall. Body in thought is  rarefied  air ,the body’s body ,looking for food.Come August, body is smoke.
I change the thread right to left ,my thoughts on body’s mom ,my  thoughts on bodies in air ,my future body on  bamboo.
My thread back to my drawer, I await the next August if there will be .August is the  possibility of thread , body may yet be a substance.Thread may  hang left to right awaiting another smoke on fire.