campground

This poem is very fresh and just a draft. It's also not based in reality (at least not mine). I'm also not convinced by its ending, but nevertheless...

campground

all night our tent
is hidden under
moon's last gasp

the river here
doesn't move
but glows, a low
royal glow
a compass point for all time
it matches your lips -
still and unkind, unmoved
by the smallest
of things

a fallen branch, water
boiling bright, the first
signs of a blister on
your heel, a toad's
false croak

silence parts the trees above
and the hands beside bodies
that lie in jest against each other

tomorrow we'll
tackle mountains
the next we'll drive
toward a confederacy of lights
the city strung out
before us our voices
unchanged our fears
aflame