Belmont Beach

A white truck waits on gravel
under orange streetlight
while a black dog licks
the moon reflected in
some little stream,
and insects scream
rejoicing in the heat.

Muddy footprints
lead to water down
where fish bite
almost anything
and throttles echo
outward from
the gaps between
the dying trees,
now faded green.

Bullfrogs call for lovers
while white moths climb
over tree bark too afraid
to fly all caught up
in this dark.

The myths of this land
now mass printed
on white t-shirts
she cuts up
to wear so little of,
further blurring any semblance
of a memory.

Still she sits at the bow
of our aluminum raft
and touches the water
so black and yet transparent
it looks almost like
she’s stirring up
the stars.