XII. Wilderness

‘The last mist rolled over the city,’ serves a purpose to us both. The light, again, comes in softly, onto bright boxes in the quilted gazebo. The crickets perform and rub their legs beyond the lake it seems. The New Year’s toast was done. It was becoming June already. We could get through then; and we would, not counting costs we would celebrate the accomplishments of our friends and we, ourselves, would stagnate, float. We drank some murky water. We did not know, I didn’t. That one part. The joint looked mossy. You held it to your mouth when the braying turkey was mistook for the sounds of sex. You were scribbling something you’d said on a note card or so you sang to say it again. There was bark you broke onto the porch. There was a talk of a lake where we could swim. There was a certain sound to it: ‘OKAY’ was a word we chanted while driving.’