Poem Category: All

camping
our coffee cups in
a gathering of trees

camp fire
before the dusk falls
to shooting stars

camping
a bee hive
being vocal to our smoke

camping
the owl’s turn to
the hint of a moth

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