Nothing truly dries in a Kentucky July.
Air so heavy you could chew it.
Rain dripping from the paint-
 
chipped railing with a whispery
sizzle onto porous concrete.
Clouds swim in the pond.
 
Its surface rippled by the paddle boats
making ineffectual circles as campers
lean forward, grasping for the heavy
 
cattail fronds at its mucky edges.
Laughter and burbling conversations
rise and drift in waves reaching
 
the outdoor chapel–
crumbling with age and use.
Youth are drawn to its open
 
vantage point; counselors
drawn to the quiet haven
of stars in the bonfire night.
 
Sparks fly as the romance
of the week heads to their respective
cabins, farewelling to the morrow.