Thursday, August 20, 2009

Cowans Gap Campsite 161

You fed us, 161.
As the August sun
Collapsed revealing fireflies and the North Star
And a partially composed tent
Two barefoot campers plunged into your margins
For firewood

Now the sky fades to black
Now the leaves erupt with color
Cast from your twigs your bark your limbs
Tent set dinner hot
Stomachs warmed
Marshmallows roasted in your yield
Our eyes shut to your
Fading embers

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