After Sweating

Cold, maybe, but worth the sitting still.
The past is all the way behind.
Leave the load whatsoever can be left.
The waves are dying to become the lagoon below.

And wind lifts birds. And the moon waxes toward full.
There's smoke still rising from the firepit.
And rocks still letting off heat. And heat still fills
whosoever's bones. A rock skips

across the surface before dropping.
Then drops below the surface and out of sound.
Amazed by moonrise, the birds come screeching.
The past is behind but all around.