Outside drizzle not seen
except through
silhouettes of trees.
An old Nikon swings
from the strap
on my neck.

I get excited
about the tree
next to
the most photographed tree.
I let my finger
rest on the wet trigger
and never shoot.

seth's best mix was a bottle
of boodles
and tonic
the rest of the night persisted
with wine and perspiration.

when we die will it be like this?
a vision when sleeping
or a wish when weeping.
the rest of our lives are drowned
in caps and empties.

fog covers the mountaintops
through the hole in the wall
as we escape from under
gin-scented drapes. i pour
maple syrup on your waffles.