Slate River Road

Our tent is small
for snuggling, they say
and we three

like peas
curve into each other.
For a long while

I linger at the edge
of dream, listening
to the river

and the stones,
to their sleeping
and to the melody

of rain that comes
and goes,
until stillness beckons

and the door-zip
unleashes a canopy
of stars so thick

it is hard to imagine
any one of us could ever be
alone.

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2 thoughts on “Slate River Road

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