ascending cathedral hill
to overlook Missouri
river, the moon is still
and bridge lights blurry
in the mist of evening, bourbon
gin, Pinot Gris, varietals
suited for this climb, closely
embracing their bodies
stepping into branches
and brambling off cliff's edge
where sandals gather
tiny burs sticky as sweat
rustling open saloons
for piano duels
where inspired hombres
drink only cask strength
the five spot is empty
to share a round before
aiming hips and heads
uphill to several beds
shadows staggering verandas
stemware traces rings
spattering between bare legs
curving helices arch to seat
hushed laughs in painted masks
pouring accidental oaths
from overflowing glasses
fingering crystal notes
fragrant as crushed hydrangeas
dowsing the disquiet; howling dogs
lonely and too close, familiar
maws and lips, a slap left eyes shimmering
the murmur of chickens sleeping askew
dreaming of what they thought
they knew of morning with wine spilled
real and portentous, rippling with gnats
recalling these visions on the shadowless
mound of Cahokian virgins et al.
clinging to hopes they're climbing
to heights of a summer, not to fall.