dawn storms in with undreamt free returns
riding close inside almost reveries,
Jersey Y-camp again,
where decision led us to squat for the night
to bunk up with the ghosts of our ancient lost tribes
(silly cats jumping at white rope fence
the day elbows closer to the heart)
a continuous land gift
secret years past,
silent telephones
rich carrot-pea soup blazing from giant abandoned kitchen,
euphoric green Milford hills
rebirthing electric summer storms
washing crashing surrounding,
unceasing
(find old cabin Judah
where I was every young kid’s buddy
learning objectivity in new directions,
and transporting homeward
discovering ancient Jewish scribed names on cabin withered beams,
termited cracked walls
preserving memories left to memories:
[O Paul Krasner, you were a prankster then!])
and a long walk up a rocky graveyard trail
into this storm-studded nighttime,
bullfrogs croaking in the tall grass,
wistfulness later melting my body inside my warm bag
still damp from my sweet Milford Rose,
again snuggled inside Pennsylvania forest country
outside distant thundering Delaware River Junetime storms
6/7/73