There was that time we were camping
in a thunderstorm. Every few seconds
the sky lit up our tent, but you
slept right through, only rolling to your side,
your heavy sighs making the world
a better place while turning my heart
into a constant state of disrepair.
Tomorrow is another day with you,
but it's also one day less.
There are still so many undiscovered streets,
stars whose light has not yet reached us.
We've barely begun to breathe.
Every fire burns to the same glorious conclusion,
the result of everything it's eaten. Aren't we the same?
The sound of rain on the roof of the tent,
the occasional clap of thunder rippling the lake.
Earlier a family of geese floated perfectly;
beneath, a lake trout flashed. My feet
were wet. The green canoe had sprung a leak.
About this Poem
Michael e. Casteels' next book of poetry will be published in autumn of 2016 by Invisible Publishing. He lives in Kingston, where he runs Puddles of Sky Press.
