the summer home beneath an august moon,
lakeshore campfire warming skinny dippers
embers spiral into the sky
fishing swimming drinking playing laughing —
but beneath sandy floorboards, bequeathed to you
are the nightmares from your ancestor's days
when help never came in the hour of their plight.
longing for light, howling in the dark
they will not set you free until they are free
and the waters are salty, gnawed bones on the floor
do not answer when someone knocks on the door.