before the bridge calls us back,
but some of us are brave
and some of us are just keeping the faith.
black-eyed Susan comes from San Fran
by way of Phoenix where she was
ditching a damn man.
Pat is on crutches, so he just watches
the fun from the field.
I hold on for dear fear,
my fingers in fair skin
of ribs rigid as rest of body bounces;
I can only here laughter
and the gas-powered engine.
a day on the edge of the desert,
where the bush meets where the brushfire
from last year cleared all the dry pine needles
from decade's past.
I only know Blake, the photographer
and his daughter,
the others are friends
or friends of friends
but we all whoop it up.
later, near the Autumn river,
we put our feet in and splash water
on our faces; it is cold
and wakes our early evenings.
we all hold hands and walk in a line, side by side by side,
and so on and so forth.
I dislike camping,
but I realize it is about weather
and who you're with
while sharing a dirt bike and weed brownies.