I remember the rocks covered in moss
skies traversed by hawks
the haunted loon call
and the moon, always watching and full.
I’d love to return to the land
that’s etched in my youthful bones.
To the stones sprinkled through the stream
which swiftly keeps a measured beat
leading to lakes eternally deep.
There’s a chunk of me left behind
in the trails through the woodlands
busy feeding chipmunks
or peering into fish pails
while sitting in a dinky steel boat
as each wave violently bumps my back.
~ Mark Nenadov
Mark Nenadov is a poet from Essex, Ontario, Canada. He lives with his lovely wife and their baby daughter. Mark’s poems have appeared in publications in the United States, Canada, and Ireland. He also has a poem in the Whisky Sour City anthology recently published by Black Moss Press.
Artwork: Breathing Underwater, by Emaan Mahmud