We buried our despair in the shade of the pine tree,
holding hands as we turned our backs
on those needling thoughts left in the dark.
The hulking ogre took root, waiting
to spring on us when we tried to take cover
beneath the canopy of stars
stretched too tightly that cool night.
A possum or some other unanticipated visitor
disturbed the tranquility, clawing at the dirt
until the ogre — always lurking as we
were distracted by routine — jumped out
to terrorize us once more
while we scrambled for a shovel
or another plot of land.
Often Mumbled Musings 