Adirondack Sketches
At the Dock
A warm breeze rises
over black water.
A meteorite —
so silent!
Your little finger
seeks my hand.
This, our cabaret.
Entranced we linger
among fireflies
sporting in
the nightlife.
Above hulking mountains
float stars,
the Milky Way
like city lights
of heaven.
Among Mountains
Returning as an old man
maybe now I understand:
The terrible weather of the Adirondacks
makes you treasure the good.
You find the right woman and stop.
You ride out storms.
You stir the glowing coals.
You learn to crave the taste
of wild blueberry
plucked fresh, staining lips,
sweetness so intense
you will climb peaks, gorge yourself,
filling pockets
for deep winter.
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