Friday, October 28, 2016


There’s sunlight enough to fool the
bees into roving for nectar, fool us
into roving far off, up into the hills.
The ridge is covered with pine trees
breathing out balsam, caching our
warm breaths. A ragged moth settles
near a thread of golden sap; when I
bend to see, sweet sharp terpenes
bend me back. Oh, look, the sun is
scattered: coins on the forest floor!
I’ll put them in my pack, make us a
lantern for our moonlit walk home.

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