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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.
Copyright ©
Robert Trezise Jr.
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