Saturday, February 5, 2011

Southern Slumber

hatches rows of tomatoes,
tangerine and full and ready.
They wait for rain.
The moon saunters
to their curvature,
through a stream of brushfire
smoke and honeysuckle beads.
Tree frogs swell to their cadence.
Can you feel the rushing breeze?
It is warm and woos her
like ether.
Crisp sheets slap midnight skin.
She dives into the fire of the mind.

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