Tonight's Poet Corner: We Make Camp

We Make Camp
by Belinda Roddie

The fish are leaping
in stark crescent moons
over the night sky pool
of incandescent past lives.
There are plenty of bugs

to feast upon, to swallow
in great, gasping gulps,
before glistening, scaly bodies
descend back into darker,
unfathomable depths.

I offer a flask of something
stronger than stars, for you
to suckle on as the trees hum
their lengthy, ages-old

lullabies. The wind is light, but
our hearts are heavy, while
the canopy of our tent bristles
like the feathers of sleeping
birds, and the fires

of dawn are itching to burst
through the curtains blocking
their celestial stage.

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