perching by the water
are mildewed handles of a blue kettle
sitting on a cloud of barks
hunting for haunted souls.
The sun has fallen
in a hole of earth
mutters in a coma
cannot be heard
from three steps aside.
Trees fallen
in a darkness never seen
are flaming mementos of the day.
Shadows ambush the flickers.
A song beats the strings.
Dry tears of a whiskey bottle
roll down the chimney
left lukewarm.
Travelers await voices of the night
and a rescue awry.
Cold fog
descends on a torched face.
An emergency dawns on the sober eyes
a ritual unsustained.
The sun undress
to put down white ashes
and a drained chest.
1/3/2018
to record a camping trip with C, J, & K.
