Private Celebration

Whirlwind Of summer embers Stirs up From the un-mowed grass Swept by the brooms of July 4th fireworks Booming distant in the furled city Up high To the tree tops The fire flies rise To the hunger of bats that swoop as spoons Banging the pan of moon More than enough for all The stars Lightning bugs Moonbeams and bean wings Consciousness everywhere Our heads tilt On their cracked bodies Statues Still standing For a longer whisper In the ancient gallery of this summer My wife her husband Hands freed from our marble robes We Ignite and hold The gold of a sparkler Close to our faces.