Spike

Traveling light
over the wet grass
out to the clearing
past the highway,
our bare feet
tank the cold
to take our steps.

Tomorrow perches
on the moon like a cat
but we don’t look too high
pacing the dark
for what is dead
enough to burn.

We keep the fire going
sitting opposite each other
making plans
to somehow live
out here forever.

You talk about shaping
fish hooks from beer cans
and stealing crops
from nearby farms
and maybe chickens
since they treat them
so horrifically.

We converge on the idea
of short lives counting
just as much as long ones,
and how the beautiful
are often overrated.

The distant cars and trains
go quiet and the stars
appear abnormally arranged.

You draw lines between them
with your fingernail
like scraping cheap paint
off a wall, and all the tall tales
of the past change to your liking.

Bound to this new night
you will be left behind
when morning shines,
but I’ll tell everyone
you’re out here
holding all of it together.
A spike driven into the sky.