–by Scott Starbuck
Under night sky by winding creek
my lakeside campfire will burn out
when I rest
and come morning I will light another,
an idea at first
rising from nothingness and ashes,
to tiny roaring orange
and glowing hot coals.
All night I will be in dreamland, but soon
under evergreen shade and birdsong
there will be hotcakes again
and blueberry tea.