Campfire pleasures I remember my first smore The gooey mess of melted marshmallow On top of chocolate and a plain graham cracker. The heat from carefully laid firewood Lit by rubbing two sticks Smoke blown by wind Tasting the ashes as they fell This was the cap to skewered onions, potatoes, and peppers. Elegance punctuated. I miss the simplicity Of joy Complicated by layers Of sensibility Aged by experience The repetition of worldly mishaps Still The moonlit night beckons Even behind the clouds I wish for fireflies Their internal lanterns. A gift to future children Gooey messes of hope.
