Gathered around in leather boots,
And wool coats,
And wooden guns,
And cotton minds.
Ties and cigars.


A quarter cut from a fallen log.
They rest on the worms and weevils.
In a black and white picture
The Sun
Light
Layers the scenery.
A midday fire,
Not for warmth,
Not for light,
But for the minds,
And the Hearts,
And the smell.
Loggers.