One Night on the Fourth of July
We combed through scents of spice and smoke,
comparing stories of guiltless
prose. A settled darkness lay on the streets,
so we happily circled the roof of our
building in sweaters, with jokes
and gnomic sights of youth. We played
and danced to the words that
were spoken, as fog
grew between the trees and houses of
the Twin Peaks. It came across
the Bay and encircled the city, ourselves
and a thousand others plucking
cords of our grandfathered freedoms.
Soon the fog had covered the sky so our eyes
fell to the indifferent stars below us,
We warmed to the change of hue,
and stepped closer together for a better view
of whatever could be seen, breathed in and
used to stay awake and
live through moments that could last forever.
Voices like whispers heard from
open windows slowly made there way across
the sky, only to be
drowned in a sea of sparks and sounds of
energies trapped by fate.
We recognized their pain
and tone, so lighting wicks we let them out,
for it was all that we could do.
One burst was heard then a hundred
more until all had been set free.
And taking hands we left to sleep, feeling
lighter as we walked, to beds of friends
or friends in bed waiting calmly to
warm the sheets. For behind us now
stood a piece of life lived, one night
on the Fourth of July.