Past Tents

Dream back how you waded
a Montana stream, at each bend
cast brown-bear-blacks

toward the far bank. Until dusk.
Until cold crept in. Fire reflected red
on meadow grass when you got back

to camp. Rainbow alive a few hours ago
sizzled in the skillet, gold stripes
still bright on their sides. Out-fished

you devoured her form layered
by growing shadows where she bent
spatula in hand. Mint along the creek

sent sweet scent into gathering night.
Willows waved themselves
into black pickets around your tent.

Full, the day spent, you were happy
to press against her back
as the moon rose and she slept.

    Timothy Pilgrim
    Bellingham, Washington

From Third Wednesday, Volume  IX, No. 4