Algonquin
At last the shivering stops
as the sleeping bag, air mattress
and tent warm from body heat.
Later I stumble from the dark tent
into a full moon, coldly glowing
over a forest of silhouette trees and
a deafening silence broken only
by the call of a distant Barred Owl.
The silver stream of piss steams as
it splatters on the ground; a quick shake,
then bag to a warm bag to sleep till dawn
which brings blue sky and a south wind
to fan a reluctant campfire and heat
a soon to boil kettle of coffee water.
A pair of loons surface, close enough
to see the bars of their necklaces, before
they disappear under the dark water.
As the sun crests the eastern hill, I move to
the shore to greet it, basking in its warmth
slowly spinning like a Crookes’ sun mill.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
