Folks in North Carolina call the 130-mile stretch of shoreline
running from Corolla to Ocracoke Island the Outer Banks.
I call it the best spot in the state to hear your inner voice,
to listen to the lap of the ocean's waves,
to linger undisturbed in bed with a cup of tea,
to feel the crunch of sand beneath your feet
and watch sea gulls suspended in the sky.

These lines from an article in American Visions, while not strictly poetry, speak to me like poetry. My wife and I fell in love with the Outer Banks when we first visited there 5 years ago. I guess poetry is where you find it.