to live in this sound

hoku ma i maho a loa
how i want to live in this sound/
don’t want this song (in all its four parts)
to stop
braiding itself around the fire
mica and i laughing, maybe irreverently
at the edge of the song circle-
carrying our imaginary mugs of some
beer-like drink
and gesturing back and forth with them
before gesturing a toast
you’re a young 40 beth says
near the end of the night
serving up a plate of obviousness i say
when caroline suggests
maybe it’s the singing
that has stripped everyone down
to bare/basic soul

life happened before (the missing plate-bowl)
and it will happen again (after) i joke with liz’s husband
and he shares his story about
his 10-year-old toothbrush
that it was decided
unbeknownst to him
that it was time to throw it out
like stan’s dance at mayday we laugh
about the ritual for the land
(which might get passed along into
a private owner’s hands
and out of the girl scouts’)
where we are all hand-clasped and some of us
moving in a circle and some of us standing still
which means some of us
are tugged taut
between stillness and movement trying
not to break the chain
loooookin good i call out
insinuating a selfi
on my walk away from night fire song circle and across the creek

to jenny under the yellow lamplight
holding her phone up
how she laughs and shows me
the luna moth
she just snapped photos of
and then the receipt or schedule she pulls out of her bag
when i tell her i left a secret note
(with whisperings of coyote canyon)


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