Flying on my Shadow,
Enjoying the ride,
I passed a hillside
With stones, spelling out:
Sarnia Nudist Camp
In bright white letters,
Legible from a distance.

Did the frost push them up
Through the earthly womb
To birth this message
For the reading pleasure of passers-by?

Did the camp director create
This hillside billboard?

I've heard, at nightime, the stones
Gleam under a constant moon
That radiates above a notion of chance.