30 The Meadow Less Bombs to Ponder in the After-Life Glow Daniel Edward Moore meant meeting was easy it was March in Seattle with evening chilled like an iced black coffee and your platinum hair a radar for aliens guiding us both to the Victrola Café, wearing what the future would need from our past: my ox blood Doc Martens and your silver fur coat. Only a gun could have stopped me from feeling how fast my feet could run in leather, how majestic a fox looks praying while falling, but I didn’t have a bullet to my name no tiny killers in my pocket size heart to convince you to take me back to my place where in an hour I was dialing your number to tell you I was done pondering.
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