Poem

Above Fanny Hooe

Two man dome, ground tarp, old zipper-shot

flannel bags, battered perk pot, your worn camping

sweater and all the rest of it,

chairs, books, bug dope

We’ll get an early start,

Rose curled atop the clutter,

hunkered down with other loaded memories; so

much for traveling light.  Naubinway’s visible from

        the top of the span but we’ll tune in AM 530

        for bridge conditions, muted crackling menace ramps

up the

vertiginous thrill of

crossing, counting harnessed

bridge painters eating lunch, backs to the strait,

helmets   ranked     steel        turtles     on    a      log

                Late lunch at the Brownstone Inn,

whitefish, wine, coffee, pie, cool lake air

aperitif, Greg Brown all the way to Baraga,

        Mose Allison to smooth the final leg

Light enough at ten to stake tent rings

on the bluff above Fanny Hooe, forage

kindling, build the fire that will

ward off the August chill and cast

a copper glow around us, tiny ampule

of light, beacon for our gathering ghosts.