Beach Towels

At camp, our summer home lost in the northern wilds,

the beach towels hang in the evening breeze at day’s end

shaking off the lake-water soaked up from tanned

and reddened bodies that live there,

diving and swimming, cannon-balling

from the dock’s end with a scream resounding

and rebounding, echoed only by loons and bullfrogs

unseen in the shadows lengthening along the lake,

darkening as night settles in, sunset’s colors reflected,

matching the beach towels hanging wet on the clothesline,

a rope strung taunt between two trees,

a line connecting us, pulling us back each summer.