The shadows in the garden make monster shapes so he growls in his throat
moon waning into nothing.
“I’m up to no good,” the girl says, but her mouth bends into a smile
a flicker in the dark, the white edge of sharp teeth
in shadow, it resembles challenge. Everybody lights up the joint
and they turn their faces up to the sky.
The firecrackers look like chrysanthemums against the moon, but they are only here
to kill the ghosts.
“Tell me about your year!” but nobody ever says that. They pull it off
like a snakeskin, like forget is as easy as a turning cloak
the exploding powder overhead, blowing up light.