this is how we do



Man Above sets upon his nightly rounds

just beyond the lip of the horizon,

his long red breath shuddering out to end in purple celestial among first stars,



while in the short time below he sets fire to the future,

makes the pink wind

blow again up over cold tops of black pines,



while ahead the kidnapped sun flees

leaving only old wind to crush her gold end embers

like fire gnats peeling off the cherry from a smoke,



white remnants of herself winnowing

sharp and flat into fading but still

obtaining icepack,



then it is that the grey higway becomes my diorama

and I slide back through black ice mirage

even as I go forth, a player again in the drama,



tales beckoning still as the road shall beckon,

always the black miles falling back into each other,

other miles rolling out red, dark as blood



Later in a tavern,

I take smoke in

codify my drinks,



and prepare

to

stay awhile