Chilkat Trine
Suddenly, sunlight. The inlet dabs green eyes.
Damp campers unzip flaps, luff out wet flies.
An eagle carves the shoreline. Crows stampede.
A shadow dives to feed where shadows feed.
The forest blows cigar smoke through its nose
& rounds its lips. Bright jays dart through the Os.
This light can’t last. It flukes before it dies.
A lone hawk dogs the wind to intercede.
The inlet fades to shades of gray & rose.
Erica Reid is the author of Ghost Man on Second, winner of the Donald Justice Poetry Prize (Autumn House Press, 2024). Erica’s poems appear in Rattle, Cherry Tree, Colorado Review, and more. ericareidpoet.com
Grand Little Things 