You are a pair of legs pegged beneath gunwales up ahead in the forest. You with your canoe-head where forward is easy.

Did we bring the right things? Paddles, fishing-rods, and something to light the fire.

Did we remember everything? Cans of deviled ham, musk oil, and rope.

Was it a useful checklist or a collection doomed? Fuzzy-peach gummy candies and the worn out tarp that was “better than nothing”.

So the canoe sank heavy into the surface, tipping left and right, with our leans and dips, and our paddle strokes.

Pulling us, by hand, and arm, and bodily forward.

Gliding, softly above the black.