this poem is a voice recording

it begins with Steve and Taylor laughing

then Hager’s booming, deep voice

carrying a comment from the other side

of the fire and then it’s my laugh,

then it’s the lake waves falling,

then it’s the family of fifty across

the way playing music and singing

to every song, then it’s Taylor saying

“moon’s doin’ pretty good tonight”

in his standard ranch hand drawl--

Steve clears his throat and I would say

that he leans forward and puts both hands

on his beer can as he stares into the fire, but

I can’t because this is a voice recording

and all I can hear is the waves, our shifting

in camp chairs, fire crackling (in the sand,

sending smoke up to the moonlit sky) and then

I press skip

and steal a moment

behind the trees and stare up at

sky and moon behind

shaking pine needles

then return in a different recording to

replayed laughter which cascades and is hollow

and in each new recording I wish I would scream

these moments are slipping

under our fucking feet but I never do

so I skip

to the next where Steve says “just drink another

beer, you’ll be warm”, and I want to say

“I’m worried about you” but I don’t,

so I skip

to the next recording and

I send silence

to the empty mountains, sky, lake

nothing.