Camp

Triangular peaks are the Emerald City,

faces painted a green that sparkles.

Clouds are breath on a cold morning,

creeping across the middle –  

foggy white slices.

The reflection ripples in inky blue water,

the remnants of glacier melt.

The glassy image clear like a mirror.

Girls giggle on the gray sand shore;

their limbs like growing fawns –

all gallop and splay and big, sharp noise.

They argue, and they laugh; they play,

the Emerald City their backdrop.

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