Creaking, I am
the oiled wood that forms
pain splotches from the rain
drops amassing when
bare feet bound along my boards.
Sturdy,
I withstand
water’s eroding splashes.
Sturdy,
I support
nodding heads and sleep-drowned
bodies bundled
against the cool night.
I am the cradle,
sturdy,
rocking with each cresting
lake laugh.
Softly,
clouds rest upon
this slumber bed;
vaporous messengers
dripping dreams into pores
as sunlight freckles
and summer streaked locks blend
with years old grain,
whipping, curling,
direction-less
like the wind.
