church of the lake
small, white clapboard
only opens in summer
May through September
for the lake people.
Already, now
before leaves even fall,
doors are locked, signboard
tucked away in the vestibule
and the forest returns
with its slow, steady gait
seedlings sprout on the brick front walk
wild grapevines trellis the entrance
pinecones and acorns toss themselves
along the path, make themselves at home
and the lake people?
Gone to their winter elements
some in cities far away
the others, with a small splash,
return to the deep waters
far down below the dying water lilies
Where they wait again for May
Puff Of Smoke Poems 
This poem kind of straddles itself. Odd two legged image, but true. I like how you allow raw energetic life to re-express itself. More phrasing I’m a little jealous about.
My stance. Hang out with those more able than myself. Wait for it to rub off on me. A dusty life.