^{after James Wright}

Knowing full well the folly
of counting on tomorrow, I resolve
to be on Bayou Castine
for the eclipse coming in 100 days.
I’ve got solar glasses and a flashlight
to wear around my neck,
and I’ll pack a flask, because if you’re not
reading boat names and sipping bourbon
on the bayou during the total eclipse,
why even bother?

But now it is summer,
and I live for darkness where it is cooler,
roaming the yard in board shorts and Crocs.
How do I, who barely have
my balance, dare dream of gliding
among cypress stoic in black waters?
Tonight’s crickets salute the thunder moon.
Those that will sing their confusion
to the future have just taken root.