Revision: a Yesterlife

The trees arrest cool air, and bright vermillion. Light rebounds around an old log swimming under a bridge. The edge of a sky seized clouds. Mother sashayed with her children; the grass was amused. A tackle-box posed on a porch waits for my fishing buddy to fill our driveway with a Buick. Mother pinned clothes to a wire. Shirts flourished in the wind, her dress wasn't new but well worn. It tasted cake flour as it waited on evening. Night was a book of dreams mother read. I sank into a wrinkled pile beneath a framed moon yes, even then there was a moon, and stars.