We stoop
under the Little Arkansas River bridge,
the high expanse of the Keeper of the
Plains
above us.
—we want to be in love—
Shivering in our fluffy down jackets,
my bottom inches above the cement steps
beneath us, the chill aura seeping past
my layers,
too cold to sit
all the way down,
—hovering—
waiting
for the flames to ignite,
burn and climb in sheer orange glory.
The refection spreads
over the black waters,
your arm moves to wrap tight
around me,
knocking me off balance,
only to land in a frigid sprawl
just as the fire lights up the night sky.
