Midsummer

with my palms upward,
painted in light,
the crack-snap of the fire
and smooth rock at my back

its sea carved contours
shining warm orange
while the white stripes of breakers
hiss into black sand.

flared spots of candles
mimic milky stars
clouds of ancient light
echoing the moon

we toast in syrup spirits
nose toes into sand
feed wood to the fire
and thoughts to the past

a circle of black
in a circle of stone,
the mark that we leave
as sun paints out the night.