Good Will Hunted

Laughs of dogs gushing through our veins, our shadows
                                 level relics glued to grass.
Sunlight bewitched our spiny minds like fireflies.
We retired our sighs,
             sank in the light, as we mused
                          on how sitting on benches
and admiring nature is a thing old folks do.
I raised my hand to my eyes to
          hide them, fingers powdered gold
as the horizon punched like a film through our fairy-tale.
This bench was our asylum. It kept us in a padded room
            and threw minutes at us like stones.
At some point each of you said
             some day there'll be credit cards
gliding through the blood of my poetry, blind
   to your role as donor, golden in my memoir's
eye. Screams of sun dissolve you till
         you're all but lightning in my ear.
But trust me not to fear the light's hunt,
    fear the thing that keeps the light
                            from eating through you.