Early evening honey and whiskey, that sweetness, bees in the ever-blossoming tresses of your hair, darling, the touch of a hand like water in a parched man's cup,
the way memory chimes its silver-stringed guitar like moonlight on a spider web, milkweed stalks against rusted-out pickup trucks, their wandering seed our only constellations,
bells in the velvet darkness before dawn, that mystery, that consolation, worn-down paths we walk fortified by trust in simplicity and cans of beer in wind off the soon to be planted fields.
O let us reseed the garden and eat vegetable soup and never go to town, not even for bread. Let us inhabit this moment forever and ever. Live with me always in the scrapyard of my heart.