this summer a murder of black pontiacs descended so of course we drove fast up the pass in our perfume and Ford Mercedes
to capture 40 years or 17 or none in our hands and
earrings swaying, we danced
up ear popping elevations and discovered the tracks of a werewolf pressed into the mud by the lake and so ran away,
laughing
and the past is prairie dust lit from our spark and burning
and the now is wildfire and
we are the fierce
Flint and Steel
so perfect so brightly ablaze
we play Jeet Kune Do in the living room and cry
live live live,
darling!
and our turbans do not slip.
live! we smile with matching red lips
at night it's blackness and stars and the air is a soft gasp
and we fall asleep
to the music of Odie breathing between us and the river slipping over rocks and other miracles that are just for us and
we are old and new
we play yes and. we always have played yes and.
encountering the unknown with wide, dark lined eyes and yes
the stories about us are true
