Midsummer
Fires
The sniff-sallow of turpentine on lipstick,
lightning burst of maple shade, supple
hang-wire in coffee shop chandeliers,
little notes on fortune cookie paper to spark.
A heave of gin in new straw's sunlight,
drifting breath-to-breath whispering pine,
a kind of courage eroded fast as lucid
waters turned on heat-hearth in midnight's pitch.
As we drift cool as dying embers, floating
heavy in possessed denial past the fragrant totems
we worship in our ragged times, before we
figured we'd grown hides too bound in place for that.
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