four girls cross four states
speeding through the horizon
not bad for Monday

the misty morning makes a muddy hike
as we make our way
to our one-night home

sticky leaves leave remnants
on every bit of clothing–
eight people, two hours,
the campsite rejoices in fresh-turned soil

we creep like caterpillars down the ravine
and slide our kayaks into Kentucky mud,
its bubbly burps rising to the top
of a lake we’ll make our own

our little fishies barely breathe,
growing gills by late cloudless afternoon
as our oars move in and out
of bird calls and a shadowy lagoon

a thrown-together meal
on a bank side blanket
fills our mouths with peanut butter,
cracker crumbs and tuna breath,
even the gurgling fishling
as she flicks her tiny tongue

the red sun drives us home,
where we will head west,
forever west, and our
Kentucky lake will make a memory
softer than a gliding kayak’s
song across rippling waters

with a log too large
and a grudge too grand
we walk the fern-filled forest

the fire burns as the dog declines
silence sweeps in for twilight
a singular remark on my snipped tongue
stings the beauty of the afternoon wood walk

soon the whimpering dog descends
into a fetal acceptance of nightfall
as distant dogs bark and Kentucky sun dips
into a day that started beneath a set
of 300-year-old pin oaks

fireflies make their way across the naked path
that i walk without you this week
no protection from the bug-bogged creek beds
from the darkened daggers of words
that break down with wood-eating fungus