A Note for the Fire
Mid-August, seventeen summers into a new millennium, morning migraine then guns going off all around all day echoing through the woods the mountains and valleys, “Land in the Sky”, crew of the Half Moon at their game of ninepins, I wish, blooming weeds along the roadsides, Daisies, Queen Anne’s Lace, Chicory, popping up in “waste places”, graveyards for instance, sun waning, a fire then in the backyard brazier, some wine, some poetry, some smoke, the smell of ghosts, they had their lives as do we.
