Mini golf at the lake

We appreciate
the bears turned into benches,
the wood frozen deer
and the stagnant ponds
filled with rotting leaves and golf-balls.

We were all naked, the stars and you and I
In the water people look gutless,
bobbing white logs of legs
and slick boned shoulders
My feet like the weeds
that float up, wrapping their fingers
around our bodies.

The sky must have been drunk
to expose itself so.
I wish the woods were emptier
We are full to the point of making miniatures
of a world that exists only to hit balls around

I want it to be only us and the loons
We could make our crazy calls together
Crashing through the trees instead of passively on stumps
The burrowers have it right,
a hiding that we have yet to accomplish.

We appreciate it,
but it's an imitation
of the empty place that we crave.