Four in our fine, young bunch,
we wander back up to the neighborhood,
wild finesse in the late, still acid-tinged twilight.
We go on smiling gently & lightly laughing,
a graceful fade into repose in our bungalow,
just a street down the way.
Then it’s the righteous renewal,
the calmly curious Sunday in the life,
a state of “as”.
We meet the sun & press,
settling into a slow fall;
reading & writing, sitting & smoking,
finagling & footballing, breathing in
a delicately emergent playlist,
musing & mustering a mild magic.