Knox Naked
We park at the empty trailhead
to Crystal Springs. It’s a quarter mile in,
which isn’t much, but which I know makes it
more likely we’ll have it
to ourselves. We make our way
gingerly along the trail, Sylvie leading
with a flashlight and Winslow at her
heel, me bringing up the rear
with Sylvie’s phone light.
Moonlight seeps through
the leaves like platinum rain.
We step quiet as bandits
in the dark woods. I’m careful
not to stumble and break something
else. At the spring, encircled
by large rocks, the perfume of moss
embroiders the air. Frogs lift
their chant to the star-strewn sky.
An owl answers with its hollow call.
I should probably wait on land, I say
I don’t want to risk tripping
and getting my cast wet.
Nice excuse but I’m not getting
naked alone, Sylvie says.
I’ll get naked on shore, I say.
And just sit there naked while I swim? Sylvie asks.
Sure, I say. I’m not afraid to be naked around you.