in or under the canyon
i used to think, hoveled
away there inside a
hallow of closets
four to be exact
the way the orange
black burned like a
slow fire in the
cast iron wood
stove in the tent

where i sit now for quiet time
but there was the slow setting
sun of most days i could eat
that memory a single meal
for the week and each week
live well nourished, happily
maintained for
the rest of my days,

laguna beach


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