Poem Category: Camping

camping
what cicadas don’t know
in the last of their cries

camping
the magpie songs
not meant to welcome

camping
shade after shade
inching longer

camping
another hunt squeals
out of the forest

camping
the quietness alone
a sundown brings

camping
as I breathe them–
the breath of trees

camping
where the owl left
a handful of stars

camping
the stars take their time
from a Dark Matter

camping
I can’t see
with Dad’s wisdom

camping
the touch of freckles
over Laurel’s skin