Under Canvas

3000 miles – 10,000 days,
or more,
beyond the mountains,
an ocean scent of canvas
past the drifts
and frosted panes,
yellow for boys – green for girls,
a memory of broiling sun
and dripping rain,
of sodden trunks
flung in the corner,
after dark – in modesty
to await a frigid sunrise dip
or new adventure.
Under canvas
we painted our dreams
and fantasies
letting the dancing light
of sun and flashlight
choreograph the future.


(thinking about all the Summers we ‘lived’ in tents in the backyard)

mouse - o = muse

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