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Tonight, Taking Out Trash

On odd nights my brain
tips out its contents, tosses them,
tries to cram them back in

but when it's been too long
the memories drip like golden water
through the cracks,

mixed and muddled,
blurring into one another and
flickering behind my eyes

like dreams creeping into
wakefulness. Tonight the aroma
of burnt wood in night air

(just cold enough to
widen my eyes in gladness, not so
frigid as to forbid)

meant dark Maine forests
in summer, meant mountain sunrises
in Taiwan's autumn, meant

the waning of winter now
and the next year and the next.
Tonight the smoke wove

itself into my clothes and
mind, bringing the memory of one
beautiful day together with

all the others I have known.
Tonight I'll lie in bed and breathe in
the lingering, hazy scent

and drink my muddled
golden water like wine.
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