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Creative Writing Poetry Thoughts and Entries

Week on Lake Darling

It feels wrong to stay at the lake for five days and not five thousand,

during which the water and the landscape and people it shapes could claim me for their own

and I’d grow used to it all, maybe.

The flitting swallows and wood fire at twilight puzzle me, like an embrace that makes you feel guilty for leaving (or ever coming at all).

I leave while the embers still glow under low, wind-tossed flames that leave the scent of smoke in my hair.

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Favorites Poetry

Near North

I want to encircle a house with flowers,

With vines and shrubs that cast dappled shadows on painted, flaking sideboard;

To look up at night and see stars, to feed birds that stop by in migration;

And as I lay awake, to hear the drumming hum of rain on the leaky attic roof.