Smoke, fog and haze competing for the waning sun's attention.
While the neighborhood bulldozer scoops and cleaves
I walk along the downward slope of the
fire break decoding this puzzle of light:
a funnel of midnight blue culminating
in a stove pipe the abandoned lodge produces;
the trail to the source: black curtain
and alabaster bathtub, a table hiding
amongst forgotten inventories of prehistoric metal
that harken back to the day the storage unit was delivered.
we ascend
due to concerns of breathability, visibility
and our dresses flair violet in the breeze
between clay and sandstone--
the summer is burning and we
inhale strings of days, bridges of muscle,
dreams and charred pine needles,
night-flying weather balloons whirling
in the casino parking lot, waiting
for the one-eyed owl to land eye-level
on the lamp-post as muffled and calculated,
real and tacet, as little cat's feet.
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