Sun rays burn holes in day,
men play cards with hearts
shuffled by rough fingers
guitar strings pluck
diamonds from last
night’s fires,

the afternoon club sings
of the wrongs done
by spades dug
too deep,

touching nerves, breaking bones;
in this happy hinterland
basked in swollen light
sit these old Adams,
friends for life,
suspending,
night from
day

come what may
they know
there are
other
ways
to
die