The warmth sleeps with the sun,

Long summer twilight tapering to an imperfect dark.

Tilted driftwood benches boast shadowed figures,

Encircling an abusive fire:

A belligerent heat that burns its worshippers, 

Yet gifts a comfort they cannot live without.

Tangling smoke stealthily invades fireside sweaters, 

An artful stowaway concealed until the crisp morning air. 

Guitar murmurs float into the night, 

Coaxing serendipitous harmonies from scratchy voices.

And surrounding it all a delicate embrace, 

Of untouched peace, contentment, belonging. 

The rare admiration of a blissful moment before it has faded, 

The wish to rest in this company for an impossible time. 

And yet surrender this warmth to live instead

A softly smoldering memory.