as hot as it gets in the northeast

sometimes the thoughts flicker
like the fire from across the yard
they hold long enough for me to grab the pen
then flicker sometimes feeling
like an engine that won't start
after a dormant winter
but it has been less than twenty-four
and as hot as it gets in the northeast
sometimes the thought finally
takes hold and catches like a dry log
erupting into flames
the pen won't stop until
interrupted by something
more modern than the elements
the fire—the stars above
a fifth letter response
alone by my fire for now
by choice mostly
one week ago drove to Maine
for the night should make a point
to go every year again
just like way back when
now the next generation
rides the carousel...