After a long day on the steering <br />end of her old canoe, when the <br />only light shimmering on the lake <br />was the vanilla moon of late July. <br /> <br />Her friends slept in the tent <br />they struggle to erect that day <br />on Mile Island. <br />The camp fire smoldered, <br />crickets sang <br />while fireflies played <br />in the nearby bush. <br /> <br />Gingerly balancing herself, barefoot, <br />over the slippery surface of the crag <br />along the lake shore. <br />Slipping off her clothing, <br />sliding quietly into the dark depths. <br />She swam naked with the Buck moon.<br /><br />Joyce Chelmo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/buck-moon/
