End of Camping

one night i sat
up trying to count
tent time, evenings in
lean-tos, sleeping bags
on dew covered earth
after backpacking, hiking, driving
away from city streets

to forest trees, mountains
summer storms, coastal sunrises
and there were dozens
maybe two hundred of
these star-filled moon
skies with campfire sparked
memories of younger days

when injured vertebrae were
stronger and slumber more
easily arrived, now nearing
50, i feel the chapter’s
end coming, but a story
written in god’s nature
will always dwell within

Timeless Universe

i’m not trying to write a good poem
this is just playful, holding a flashlight,
watching words appear on a page like
reading The Hobbit as a kid, and i can
do this, sometimes pausing to notice
shadows where dark becomes light,
a bright circle, where meaning emerges,
my handwriting, this timeless universe,
in quiet night