by Samuel J Fox Andrew Castillo In my quiet town, the maples bear their greenage like trumpets floundering in some indeterminable fanfare. I return to the remnant of a field where I buried my boyhood memories. The moon is slipping into her silk blouse while God is busy stacking my luck into a house of cards. I walk to the dilapidated barn where I witnessed angels casting dice above me in the mice-filled rafters. The wind plays the periphery of acacia bushes, their leaves reve