Samuel Swauger

Camping With You

Above all the crushed beer cans
in the woods this blazing summer,
the night sky drips
with innumerable stars
each of them as white as eggshells
and small fireflies meander
around my flashlight
like a baby’s mobile
moonlight enchants the glass
broken into dark green

laying in the path
behind the cars
where nothing will ever grow
an orange twinkle in the clearing
the campfire; a source
of incessant talking
all of it completely inconsequential
a scene lifted from a bad movie but
when our fingers
touch, hushed winds
kick dust into my old shoes
love must explore this place

Samuel Swauger is a poet from Baltimore, Maryland. Some of his work appears in the magazines Wordgathering, Third Wednesday, and the Front Porch Review. His website is and his Twitter is @samuelswauger.

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