At Wolf Lake / Just Outside of Prophetstown

The sinners don’t often come here
to learn to write—their skin

pale with too little sunlight, the lost
pigmentation. They float

like lost souls in boats over
the water, drifting slowly toward

and away from one another
until the snow comes—

snowflakes falling
like small questions—

will darkness fall
like winter here?

can’t I remember the way
the water looked—just this way?

did I remember
to turn off

the lights?

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About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit www.mckenzielynntozan.com. View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

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