I sit with my thoughts
and bourbon
these long evenings,
dipping day into dark
when edges of the woods
creep closer,
but no one notices
and the birds
and the frogs
and the salamanders
all mate in our yards.
They cry out songs
of love and loneliness,
and the chill coming
down from the mountains
pokes goosebumps out
all across my skin
while I listen and wait
for lightning bugs
to rise up
off the creek banks.
I wonder if this is how life
is supposed to be:
fueled by hot desire,
peaking in sunshine,
and then this desolate hour
seeping in our mortality and
waiting for the end.