Virgins
ascending cathedral hillto overlook Missouririver, the moon is stilland bridge lights blurry
in the mist of evening, bourbongin, Pinot Gris, varietalssuited for this climb, closelyembracing their bodies
stepping into branches and brambling off cliff's edgewhere sandals gathertiny burs sticky as sweat
rustling open saloonsfor piano duelswhere inspired hombresdrink only cask strength
the five spot is emptyto share a round beforeaiming hips and headsuphill to several beds
shadows staggering verandasstemware traces ringsspattering between bare legs curving helices arch to seat
hushed laughs in painted maskspouring accidental oathsfrom overflowing glassesfingering crystal notes
fragrant as crushed hydrangeas dowsing the disquiet; howling dogslonely and too close, familiarmaws and lips, a slap left eyes shimmering
the murmur of chickens sleeping askewdreaming of what they thought they knew of morning with wine spilledreal and portentous, rippling with gnats
recalling these visions on the shadowless mound of Cahokian virgins et al.clinging to hopes they're climbingto heights of a summer, not to fall.