Vacationland

As the sun rolls down sylvan hills

Midjourney art generated by the author

The lake sounds like a loon,
the fog a form of irrigated cry,
logging trucks a motor-break sonata.

Fish shelter in the trees, wait
for sharp bombs to obliterate
their tensor bite with curved blood cry —

body whip and spiny fight, a flexing pulse
as the sun rolls down sylvan hills,
pine bright — loud highway brighter,

a water’s edge of rocks and waiting docks.
I see snapping turtles clear the swim lanes.
I see a carpet of 12-hour insects indifferent

as the bait worms that writhe ferro sand.
We visit and we leave, taking photos
so we can look back and really believe it.

©️ Trapper Markelz 2023