Craig Wisner

Lone King.

camp set, waiting for dark now

a joy spreads through me

walking alone through meadows, black oaks

wheat colored fall light

filtering through the canopy

1

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3

dark bodies

darting about the pool

-no, there are no trout here

only ripples

and too much wine

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7

sipping wine

beside the stream

waiting

for a poem to arrive

8

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10

climbing back to camp

trading the sound of water

for gray mountain squirrels

chattering like monkies

at my arrival

11

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13

Listen-

a poem is hiding

somewhere

in these fern covered cliffs

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18

I was a Lone King.

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