Sighs from the outliers, where they sit on rims. Drowning in tin cans - they beg for a swim. Off of bottles, berths, and burdens; so, few.  The campfire brings warmth - an ember-ed view. They wish to wash off their past, so unclean. To dry with their fellows is all they dream. The fire cries cinders that fall like petals. While gazers awe, watching flames settle.