Flames dance yellow up and down
the shore, darkened figures huddle –
some in quiet conversation
some in silent gazing.
Gay children gone to bed – their bikes
and bells their balls and toys lay silent
after another day at play –
they slumber in their tents.
Horizon’s sky glows red and orange
while crashing waves roar in, evenings
glow envelopes the huddled figures
stoking driftwood fires.
Is this simple life illusion
sitting in our camping chairs
while our lives back home await –
allowing us this diversion?
We kid ourselves that we this life
could live, while most could not endure
a week without technology’s
If we could feel this peace returning
to our queer modernity, with
eyes to see horizon’s glow
stoking inward fires,
that sand and sea, bikes and bells,
the dancing flames, these are truly living.
Brick and mortar, glass and steel the
permitted diversions – the make-believe.