Distilled in the wilds
by a certain light
the low warning bays
of hounds
chained to a tree.
Determined to burn
all the way down.
Clear as a mirror.
Filling mismatched glasses
in dark pool halls.
The slightest bit familiar
even when swallowed 
for the first time. Lost 
in the haze of corn-
silk cigarettes
behind garages up and down
old Norwood Ave.
Easing the pain 
of red-dirt afternoons.
Forbidden. An escape.
Moving like liquid
then vapor. A ghost.
Easily conjured
impossible to hold.

Crystal Condakes Karlberg is a graduate of The Creative Writing Program at Boston University. She teaches writing through her local library. Her work has appeared in Oddball Magazine; Mom Egg Review; SWWIM.