Summer of '78

A poem.

Summer of '78 Rain fingers the strings,
guitar, banjo – Thunder
bisects the sky. Long
chorus of years, a refrain
of river and ocean. Loved faces fade
to moon circles.
Children's voices
reassemble as crows.
Words disintegrate,
rushing downstream
,
I only remember
the smell of honeysuckle
in the dark. Bradley R. Strahan