thirsty for woodland

there's nothing like a fuzz and crackle

to my throat, tongue, and voice box mangled

in a whiskey drink concoction sipped slowly

on a a porch in a north denver neighborhood

there's nobody to send signals to my brooding ears

barred but for your hand to mouth melodies.

in a mystical way you're making no sense

but for the sense of well being that i'm swimming in

check out the sky on this day full of empty hours,

blue as the deep end of pools full of children

i pass with lingering fingers on the fence,

my eyes diving in to a distant summer memory