(almost) haikus about church camp

the silent rise of
sun over the grand oak that
the blondest climbed

where we cut our knees
and reached for divinity
just beyond our grasp

first summer rays and
young love fell lightly like the
first snow or last leaves

where i held a hand
warm and too like my own
but freckled and holy

yet in the evening
when the cicadas sing hymns
and bush crickets cry

where violets tie
our palms she looks past me
and she looks to god

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