forever, all night, into the forever, all night, the forest
on fire, literally, and metaphorically, the horizon red
in the night, this red line, and the smell, the backwards
smell, the smell of burning lace and fingers, burning
mirrors and bones, burning lakes and childhoods, and
burning roofs and ghosts, where I’d try to hold my
breath, but I had rounds to do, a fence to walk parallel
to, uselessly, guarding nothing, in all honesty, maybe
the moon, how I’d keep my eye on it all night, like
this massive lock to the door to infinity, and the bore-
dom hurt, the minimum wage night, the threat—we
were told—of mountain lions that never came. I’d
wish for them, hope for the chewing of my sinews,
but nothing came, not even morning, because we had
eternity to battle, the endlessness of jobs in America.
