Tent
in the morning they always have to pee somewhere mainly on a tree/ crawling out like rabbits from a magician’s hat/ izaak, randy, josh, and devon plus the rest of them like pilgrims for the whole marvelous and unvisited earth that blinds them in the aerial buoyancy of their raw-boned eyes/ their socks will stink/ the wind beckons them to believe, believe/ all night, their throats straight down the shimmering of the dust of discovery in apt competition with their attitude that says we know everything/ they do not know everything and, in fact, get quite lost far too easily/ you can only buy half their bullshit/ today, they will run around the woods again/ fleeing things we cannot know/ turning this into games, teams, the dogs regarding them gravely/ they cannot fool the dogs/ they will smell like campfire, butter, and sweat most of the day in fields/ their poignant witchcraft amid the woods like smoke/ for now, i offer them tin cups with boiling coffee/ and i whisper from time to time/