The trees in Buena carry
A degree of coldness in their fruit.
They are perishing now over the solemn
Vistas of the city,
Unreal blots of color
On an otherwise grey dominion.
Through the patios of lonely families
The moon is an orange in the bright fists
Of summer.
Its reflection fills with stars and wood smoke.
Through the streets, through the grey
Huddle of buildings,
We smoke camels and light fractions
Of the dark. We confess and absolve.
We disappear.

—
Seth Jani originates from rural Maine but currently resides in Seattle, WA. He is the founder of Seven CirclePress and his own work has been published widely in such journals as The Foundling Review, East Coast Literary Review, Red Ceilings Press and Hobo Camp Review. More about him and his work can be found at sethjani.com.