Past tents
(for Carolyn)
I dream back Montana, how I waded
a high meadow stream, at each bend arced
brown-bear-blacks toward the far bank.
Until dusk. Until cold crept in.
Fire reflected red on meadow grass
when I returned to camp. Rainbow
alive a few hours ago, sizzled in the skillet
speckles and stripes still bright on their sides.
Out-fished again, I stood behind, devoured
your lithe form layered by shadows
as you crouched, spatula in hand. Mint
along the creek sent sweet scent
into gathering night. Nearby willows
waved themselves into dark pickets
sheltering our tent. Fulfilled
the day spent, I was happy
to press tight against your back
as the moon rose high and you slept.
(first published by Third Wednesday) |
