Clouds or not. This tent marks the clearing. Corners stitched together make honeycomb cocoon. Someone crawled out, solitary, first to assemble breakfast. Bacon and berries and bread drenched in batter. Someone gathered lost shoes. Arranged palm-sized rocks. Shuffled canvas chairs to circle the fire pit still smoking, to awaken day's amphitheater. Brothers paired for strumming. Cousins who linger in nap tents to talk, stretching. Redwood trees and rock river quietly flatter silver banks. Kayaks of fathers. Monarchs, arching, glide. Someone stitched these burgundy seams. Who told the moon to greet me? When I crawled out, sleepless, no longer lonely.