On a cliff
Above the lake.
The blood moon rose,
Red track
On black water
It was sacred—
Sparks floating
From the fire and sky
‘It’s wrong to smoke,’
You said,
Butting out your cigarette
But we still drank,
And watched the Moon
Inch higher.
Railway tracks
Behind us
Going nowhere
You’re on them now
In sparks
And in the night
A holy moment
In our lives…
That time we first made fire.