The gathering around the stone circle
Each tells a story in turn and the others
listen closely, intently. Silent agreement
with folded hands, clear hooded minds
and the thickening smoke pushes each
inside with eyes closed.
I peer through the smoke at
the blackening sky concealed
by city lights and city of industries.
What is there gathers here.
What is not visible congregates
in each of us. I feel more alive
the further I flee from fire, the colder I become
the closer to death I am.
Why does time pass like
scented memories, unseen and quiet?
Heavy thoughts are briefly lifted by the company
I keep and their faith in the person I am to them.
I dream of fields and the cleansing fire
consuming one by one the objects placed
with care and purpose, but some version of me.
Does it matter who placed them here?
Is the stone path somewhere out there?