Like a country boil
steamy hot and flies a ‘buzzing
barelegged offspring chase fireflies
and the sky sparks secrets
only children know
We sit and drink Tom Collins
watch the sun glow orange and red
pincer claws come unbidden
from the ashy turmoil
of an evening burn
You cannot reanimate the dead
there is no foothold in the hollow
of heaven where myriad magi sweep
and bow
slither and moan
You and I my friend
like eggs bounce and crack
bulbous white flesh bubbling
from fragile and impenetrable
contour of shell
Hungering after amnesia