Here the moon glows like coals
high above the spiral sparks
and teasing warm of ember gems
buried at the bottom of the flame.
It makes us deep, contemplative
or just flushed and slap-happy
and sometimes gives us both at once
so we sit round and, eager, tell our tales
Things that are, things that were
and some things…we simply argue over
misplaced modifiers and
the timeline of events we thought we knew
And as our memories ascend
along with red dot sparks
they leave behind, the sear and streak
of newer stories where the old had been.