Under a chiseled ceiling of stars,
The weight of sunflowers lean their heavy stalks
On fence lines, thick from the swell of day.
Night blows its mulch scented breath
Darkening lavender petunias to the rattle of cicada song,
Captured inside floral cores, liquid notes
Sliding along crepe petals, slick with dew.
These goblets of swirled twilight ferment the season.
In a hot breeze, laughter spills into streets,
Releasing tin exhales of bourbon and blues
Running thick in gutters, rocking chairs on porches,
Musicians with licorice voices,
Coating their throats in roots and rhubarb.
A quick tear through bramble slows the
Drawl of tongues drunk with humidity,
Pinning The Big Easy beats to the wave of clotheslines,
Catching the rise and fall of cotton and colors,
Knotted with yellow kitchens and red bedrooms.
And yesterday’s boots
Left in dark closets, kicked to corners,
Pattered reminders of winter’s grip,
Are as far from the lace and heat of
These simmering mid summer nights.