The Boundary Waters
By Daniel Bohnhorst

Words tapered off like rain before we rested,
Savoring the lake air, warm within our tent,
Shivering in the echo as a loon nested:
Unearthly language, freed of all intent.

Tell me why I dreamt, then, of firebombed cities,
Bodies rotisseried in stop, drop, and roll
Unable to smother the fuel of memory:
Cathedrals of Dresden. Temples of Tokyo.

Born from the ashes of broken sanctuary,
We cherish the collapsible chapel of a tent.
Mind is a dark reed quickened by the ferry.
Hidden in the pines, our bonfires dance.