the woods

it is morning

defined 

by linen against soft skin

wet grass 

and an orange sunrise

quiet 

from the west

to the east 

a bus is parked 

smoke wafting out of the windows 

on this golden morning

the air is thick

and it is hard to breathe 

beads drape around their necks 

as they stumble towards the light

them

people 

living life 

just to live it 

girls in overalls

are passed out in the field 

still smiling

high on life

and maybe something more

there is music

radiating

like sun rays

through the pastures

among an old farmer’s cows

in the New York countryside 

they feel so cool

and calm together

following each other

taking turns as leader 

penniless 

yet infinitely richer than the policeman

who picks the delirious from the field

like dandelions 

and lays them to rest at the station 

as they rest

they dreamed 

chemicals 

drugs 

and sweet chamomile tea

mixing in their bloodstream 

intoxicating them

sending these kids 

to a place that felt like heaven 

but they didn't wish for a heaven 

and they knew they wouldn't go to hell 

peace was cupped in their hands like a baby bird 

fragile and sacred 

but for the first time 

alive 

and well