A grandfather and child stand naked at the edge of the lake.
We decide that this is natural,
stare politely at our toes whilst stepping out of our clothes.

We force our cheeks into a smile.   
One glance wipes away the innocence of my bathing suit.
This is how we glide into the water, impish.

We swim across the lake, breaststroke
feels strange without the contours of a swimming pool.
I talk about my mother’s breasts floating on the water in the bath.
How they seemingly contradicted gravity.

We smoke ciggies on top of your sleeping bag, for me a first.
My gums feel like a dried apricot stone,
but I tell him it tastes all right.     

In the morning the sun burns us out of our tent,
where we find the dead chick.
Whatever it was, it was defenceless.