Camden, Maine

quilted sky

glittering silently,

winking a thousand times

to the iron visitors

constellation

of houses

are sentries

to the cooing loons

and grunting bullfrogs

by day

the sun-kissed bodies

drift by

in casual boats,

soaking in the trees

and the sea-salt air

harbor chatter

in vacation tongue,

tolerant locals

measure patience

one tourist at a time

Rattlesnake Mountain

Carved

Like paradise

From alabaster glaciers

Birth trees like

Like stubborn soldiers

Raising the bright fall canopy

            To heroic skies

Hunting for moose tracks

Among the pine needle carpets

Climb and sweat

In the fall breeze

Slough up rocky slopes

Jagged hills with slip-leaves

Just for us tourists

Serene clearing

To spy Crescent Lake

And miles of trees and skies

Not another soul around to share

The treasured stones, the good musty Earth

The dreamy majesty of land

Of the America that still is, at least here.