Nighttime, and we are writhing
with the worms.
Weekend escape:

solitude in the face of denial,
syntactic precision
underscoring firefly

promises. Wild forage leaking
their saps. I want to
breathe you in:

anonymity in the hands of desire,
inundated in blue
denim all wet

and tattered, fabric unraveling
as we claw the
earth to its core.

Minor-key tunes that emit
from lantern
flickers. Blink,

and the tent flies away. Trust:
stranger contortions
have happened.

But tonight, I’ll be your cowboy
and wear your
closet camouflage,

hide in the freight train haze,
dance with
the coyote yip—

all these mountain things
shudder under
campfire light.