I felt I could sleep where I stood,
swaying there in a heady daze,
drunk on skin thick-sweet from perfumed soap,
its steam rising warm in the cool evening air.
I would be clean once I hit the water
and the soap spread milky across the lake's skin.
Later, I would rub my goose pimpled arms down
with rough terrycloth
and wonder how I had ever arrived
under these stars
on such soft soil
for this brief time.
I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.