Cottage Night

Too late for waves,

hummingbirds,

the sunset.

I’m over it—

the whir of the

washing machine,

cutting up

dead trees,

fighting

mosquitoes.

It’s time to rest.

Full-bellied.

Ears ringing.

Dreams creeping in.

There’s something

to be said

for empty hammocks

in the night breeze.

A chill carried for miles

over the lake.

A fire pit waiting

for a spark.

And the loud traffic

still finds me.

I hear it

through cinder block walls.

And I wonder

if I’ll ever escape.

~ KJ