Poetry in  

everything–
all places–
brought to light
in sunrise–
brought in darkness
by a Whippoorwill–
& in memories
of you.

I find words
in tiger lilies
on red, clay
Kentucky
roadsides,
a solitary
Monarch
circling.

I hear poetry in
the flow
of Old Seventy Creek
& in its descent
of 76 Falls,
writing.

I find words in
the view
from Jack’s Knob
when fog rises,
& deer in
Upchurch Hollow
bounce high in
crossing,
white tails upright
one
&
all.

I dream in
my room unseen,
alone
as Covid19
howls
outside the door,
hungry hunter,
tracking.