Nostalgia hovers like mist
over landlocked lake.

It flutters like flight-fragile wings
of migrating monarchs.

It settles like morning dew
on drought-crusted branches.

It lingers like condensation
on cold glass—w
indow and mirror.



Poem 13: during National Poetry Writing Month.


Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo.





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