On This Night of Our Choosing

On this day of our choice



we have collected



at forests like



some insect



varietals



beetling their way



to the heart of



the copse. We have



coalesced for



the moment as



dewdrops do



bivouac in the



abdomen of leaves



pooling tensility



against atomizing



sun or its reflection



sprung from mica



pieces studding



the sharp loam.



The tenderfooted



will wince



the shod shall



advance this day



of our choice when



we pass separate



through the wood



to track in packs



paths whose blaze



is merely what



we toss ahead.



All hopes into



mouths of our



beer cans are fed



crumpled jettisoned



and come upon



twenty yards



down the trail



as though left



to augur for



us there. But



no other has



before stood



here with legs



spread open as



a pair of shears



pin-stuck in the



soil like sign



of a miracle.



Here the trees



are deplumed



limbs mangled



and gray like



stone jali hiding



others gone other



ways this day



of our choosing



foreshortened to



evening already.



No two paths



cross and were



they to they



might as wires



sparking this



night of our



choosing to fire



but uncovering



a charcoal plain



across which we



might see one



another again.