Casting Rocks

Merely on edge,
the wharf in bad light
clinging to water's ledge -
a loon from afar
the Woods
closing with each sound.
Casting rocks toward moon's glare
lapidations laughing back,
the treacle of warm night
coaxing fire's glowing might.
Sudden, oceanic wilderness
breathless in barked silence -
and camphor to keep the flies at distance,
the anchored boat like a prison ship
dallying on the waves,
brambles & underbrush
sunken wet sand,
abundant berries rasp in thickets -
the cottage like a jar
closing for the night.