I would have sat you down and explained, poured
you a mug of coffee and placed it on
that aqua-painted table we bought at
the thrift store that winter in Alaska
when we left a lamp lit all day and night,
painted the kitchen walls orange and stacked
a pile of rocks from some river in the
middle of it next to the pepper and
salt shakers, our own henge calling back the
light, little earth work balanced daily by
capable hands paying attention. The
story’s a sweet one though we never went,
nor to any place else for that matter,
for all matters, and so will keep us
in our back yard, staring at the flames in
our fire pit as if they’ll take us somewhere.