The summer we backpacked into the mountains
we camped by a stream at the bottom of a canyon
The first morning, groggy out of our sleeping bags,
we lit the fire again, drank tea until the sun
warmed the boulders around us and the hawks hung high
above the pines, aspens and spruce
By afternoon, at that altitude, the sun heated the canyon
We undressed, four young women, four young men,
chests, arms, breasts and buttocks free of blemish,
edged into the chilling, twisting waters of the stream,
dove and laughed over and around each other
until the world we hoped to evade found us again
We toweled with long sleeved shirts on the flat boulders
in wildflower air swirling through trees and shrub
The sun dried our hair, warmed our bones,
lulled us into a fugue of a life we would leave
for draft cards, hand-scribbled signs and tear gas
Waking, we combed knots from each other’s manes
until the strands gleamed blackberry and honey hues
The stream tumbling over the stones flashed
hypnotic in our eyes, reflected off our faces
In the crash of the stream and at that moment our skin
glowed in the fresh cold given up by natural waters