Sing

Although special, singing

has never been my forte:

I find it hard to feel for sound

and coalesce my heart and mind

with earth and fire without a crowd of

apparitions getting in the way.

But, yesterday, six of us drove out

to a raging riverbank in the frost

and sparked a little fire to dance and sing around

under blue sky. A dusky moon

lit up a warning light. Open mouthed,

carousing to a churning

water slap, we floated cares downstream

and harmonized a rich, brown god

who turns and never stops, as far as

I can tell. At the end, our fire roared with wind

into a start of silence.

                                                Back in

the kitchen, all talk stopped, all

bodies quiet: the moon, floating, somehow

in its blackness, chose to howl; to shine.