August

About a boy.

You respond
so passive,
not unlike certain angels glowing.
The light, which had appeared to be calm at first,
that poured from you like rain,
now turns gray in the sun.

My question
elated,
quivering shining silver voice
dusty from my rapid heart beat
asks directly:
lightning speed.

Go to hell.
I don't remember what the question was
though I can still form the words on my lips like photographs.