I remember skiffs covered with cobwebs
drifting downstream, oar blades underwater,
spiders dancing above, their vast burning shadows
chilling trash on the banks, gulping vodka;
long feathered tongues of the earthlings
were unable to lick the chains of the puddles
off the streets with a cracked skyline.
The nights were cold for ancestor worship.
Planets and stars didn’t exist, nor did typos,
cigarettes didn’t light.
I was grateful to everything that could be silent:
currant bushes, outhouses, buckets of water.
Neighbors were looking for doormats and newspapers
to wrap themselves up. No one was going to die.