Fields and Ledges

How sweet the pleasures we can’t affordbut still pursue. Now that three of themare finally divorced, four friendsdecide to rent a cabin for the weekend.

The one who’s never been married thinksabout how fall in north Georgia is not that differentfrom fall in Pittsburgh. Blackberries, the coatyou have to wear but feel comfortable in,

the smell—it’s more of a rumor, really—of burning leaves drifting through the bright day,the reassurance of knowing that someonestill burns them. The wind that brings the sudden

and not quite harmless tantrum of acorns.Gathering wood for the night’s fire, he thinks of his lover,how at times like the night before,collapsed and breathing heavily just after sex,

they enter a space where all their jokes,irony, and default fights don’t existand all thoughts fail, silently, the waythe hive’s worth of huge bees had died that afternoon

in the cold field—he felt some hit against him(they were heavier than he thought, muscular)and drop as if they had just needed the suggestionof death. Later that night, the woman

who’s not his lover drinks gin with five lime wedgeswrung out into the ice cubes crowdedas the stars above them. Her glassbalances on the ledge of the hot tub

like a lighthouse overlooking a green turbulence;and the three of them, beautiful, naked, and happyinvite him into the water they all call perfectthough no one can stay in it for very long.