I think Teddy Roosevelt stayed here once
after the asylum and before the second fire
back in the time of postcards and parasols
ostrich feathers and wicker rockers

stains on the remaining walls of the bath house
show where the sulphur water once leveled
gardens have gone mad since then

two patrol cars
pull up drivers-side window
to drivers-side window
in the turn around
of an otherwise empty parking lot

hand in hand
around the bend they appear in sequence—
ladies’ pool
mixed pool
men’s pool
we predict where most of the fucking was happening

just off the trail
a sawhorse in the woods
drew me in
then a pair of women’s panties
half buried in the leaf litter
then another pair bunched just over there—
and look, a black latex glove!

he imagines it is a meet up place for working girls
I demonstrate multiple uses for a sawhorse
then note potential points of attachment for rope

sweating cyclists wrap the switchback

across the trail
a deserted
white fleece jacket
hangs from a branch
we imagine the owner—
perhaps a hopeful new girl
being chased off
by the pros

we pick leaves
from the fleece
he wants me to pretend
to be a sheep later
I practice my bleat
twitch my tail

it is too hot in the full sun to walk far
no, it is too hot even in the shade

but he finds a tree
to press my face against
lifts my dress
pumps inside three maybe four times—
a reminder, a promise, a claim

do you belong to me?
am I yours?

we cannot see or hear the river
but flattened patches of grass
sticks and washed up leaves
caught on the ankles of trees
tell the story of its flood

deserted gardens are still in a frenzy
as we find our way to the car
the randomness of butterflies
makes me dizzy
I nearly lose my balance
but he holds my elbow
opens the door
and I show him the world
as I swing slow my legs
into the passenger seat