We sit up late under the red cedars
and tell each other them
long time ago stories
You roll your cigarettes
Sometimes we sing
it becomes morning

we are sober
become drunk
then sober again

Cement can’t be good for us
it made us crazy
we’ll never return
we agree

We are drawing on the earth with a stick
carving, making fire with the old wood
and no, your broken nose does
not make you look Tibetan

The moon rises

In the morning we pray again
go the creek bed, recite old prose
tonight we will do the same