Down we drove,
The rim of Philadelphia
Hot motorcycle
Burning in the truck.
We bought 100 pounds of clams
And stopped inside your parents' cold dark house.
Built fires
Underneath the long cold grates
Charcoal lashing
Leaps of light.
The fireflies called out
Leapt up
Embroiling thickness
In the dark.
That night I thought
I'd never find a way
Amongst the thousand candles guttering
Beacons holding fast against the night.
Daylight
And the long, grey, dulling wave
The furnishings of coals and wood
Grown bitter in the morning.
I found myself
Defending strings of moments,
People, faces, long hard times.
I still can see that fire
Drawing distance in the sand
Miles away from home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem