"I don't care for Bad Religion, never have," and it took me
two heartbeats to realize it was a band. Of course. A band.
And there, where the hills meet, in a smudge of eye-shadow,
just where the edge of your hand would settle
on the breastbone of the forest; where the fog glows
with a certain latency of sun, and its tendrils open
(still generous, after all abuse!) to the warming air;
there where a person might pause, resettle packstraps,
and make sure of direction: well, there,
we don't much care for bad religion either.
There is too much at stake: there is the brightness
where the sun might or might not clear the mist;
there is the fold of garden-smelling earth
running down to darkness.