Slip unnoticed under the fence,
And sprawl in the tall grass
For a while, panting and laughing
With the exhilaration unique
To young people ignoring
A No Trespassing sign.
Never meant for swimming, that lake,
Which (of course) makes it covetable
As a cold, crisp, honey-sweet slab
Of watermelon on a Death Valley day.
Overhead, you see, the stars seem
To be spinning backward, unspooling
Their spider's silk stories, though
You, pulling off and tossing aside
Clothing as you run
Lakeward, barefoot and free,
See only their dim reflection
In the still smooth surface
Of midnight blue water.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six