An interesting sight may be

a small group of kids,

some with unkempt hair, some

with barely any at all

exiting a vehicle,

entering a pavilion

and exiting again, a half hour later

along with an odor of marijuana

They walk off, under the sky

mixed with some clouds and stars,

but mostly just amber glowing gas.

Chatting and cheering just loudly enough

to all miss the owl call out

from the distance

save one, who was lucky to be

just slightly more observant than the rest.

He stops and stares off,

stoned and strains to see or hear

a solitary subject of nature

in a place,

in a world

where cities extend across the earth

with their concrete, rebar fingers

into the open eyes of the sincere.


Suddenly the sun leaps into the sky,

and quickly falls on the other side,

but the streetlights mitigate

the confusion that occurs in the absence

of those golden rays,

those basic units of contentment.

And a small group of kids

can once again be seen, walking off.

Once the Woodsmen of the World

met here and held discourse .

Now the small group of kids

become a large group,

with everybody,

with nodding heads

or smiles, or staring into outer space

imbibing loud music like drunks.

One kid in the crowd with his fingers feels

the tapping foot

of the guitarist, and the rumble of the amp,

softly bites the neck of

his lover, how lovely, he thought—

though her pupils were large enough to hid the irises

and the singer speaks of drinking and love

and the audience continues nodding

save one, who was lucky to be

just slightly more observant.