the afternoon heat nearly unbearable

we spill forth, naked, towards the water

cautiously picking our way to avoid
submerged rocks and broken branches

read the current, you call out

I am tired of reading everything
three cormorants perch on the riverbend

wet wings open to the wind

bird poems flood in without invitation
later I open tins of food by the fire

we lie under wide dark skies

the stars overhead pencilled in and labelled
verses follow one another

into opaque documents over the years

books left on the grass, sodden with rain