On my hand I smell woodsmoke
Don’t know where it came from.
The evening is silent, the river still
The shore opposite is a dark silhouette
Behind other silhouettes.

On my other hand I smell strawberries
From supper, still there even though
I have washed twice.
The silence is canvas-bestowing:
I am Lismer viewing dusk
For the first and millionth time.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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