day one

Backyard
My Hands are cold.
My Hands look out
over the grass and see
a possum, staring back.
We both play dead.

There is no Fire tonight:
holding, teasing, accompanying,
Laughter and Melody.
But there is Truth, Goodness,
and Beauty under the stars.

Taste the huckleberries,
then the chocolate, then Honesty.
It catches us and settles in for
that walk home to reality.
My Hands like the cold.