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09/21/11 - (1)
Swamper 4
Late yesterday afternoon, for sixty years, I tried to locate my displaced spirit, Traipsing through Camp Nebagamon's dewy silence,
Where, for eight weeks, Each of the past eighty-three summers, Boys have congregated, to be nature's cabin-mates,
Before taking northern Wisconsin home, with them, For the rest of their destinies — Its pines, lake, chipmunks, cookouts, under their pillows.
Suddenly, I found my missing spirit, back in 1951, Sleeping in my bunk, in musty Swamper 4, Dreaming of the man who'd one day look for me there.
09/21/11 - (1)
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