Route 7 Review - Page 64

Beneath Dark Jacarandas, After the Documentary Film BY Robert Joe Stout Laughter rises in quick spurts —embarrassed, startled, coy— like fireflies, he thinks, sudden flicks of feeling ricocheting group to group, faces flaring in and out beneath dim lantern lights. All there seem young, arms around each other, backpacks swaying as they argue, tease, caress. Then moonlight sifting through the leaves brings other faces, voices, other films, other lips exploring his, like flowers budding from old plants, each new and different but the same, catching light and gleaming, fireflies more sensed than seen, then gone.