Geraniums wilt into the bedrock behind a treehouse the canyon knew. The lanterns have extinguished. Crow in the ****** overhead sifts downward. Below the trundled dune, poppy after poppy -- hidden in mantling dust -- deafens in its own rustle. Where is the moon today? Where does the sky end and wrap inside its craters? A caw splits the wind in a palm, drives it through a lantern's smoke.
We used to watch the lanterns wane before calling it a night.
We used to put bees in jars before pulling our blankets up.
We used to sing old gospel songs before getting out of bed.
I feel older than an ancient discipline, I swear I was like this before I was born, I'm trying to discredit my happiness, but I'm as aimless as ever...