Snowmelt pond warm granite we make camp, no thought of finding more. and nap and leave our minds to the wind. on the bedrock, gently tilting, sky and stone, teach me to be tender. the touch that nearly misses— brush of glances— tiny steps— that finally cover worlds of hard terrain. cloud wisps and mists gathered into slate blue bolts of summer rain. tea together in the purple starry eve; new moon soon to set, why does it take so long to learn to love, we laugh and grieve.