In the hot New England woods
We come to confess
Our need.
Ourselves alone,
Workday false face
No longer
In our steed.
Among
The humble friends
Who know
Our youthful
Means
Before these our
Glorious ends.
Fortressed, trapped, well-wrapped
Among the
Bug bites
And the trees,
We make
Drink
Laugher
Music
While we conjure, sing and feed.
Rip away
The worry layers
And lay bare
The stuff of youth.
Soul fire lights
These summer nights
For warriors
To recoup.
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