In blue June,
things
are thickest.
There's rain.
Live Oaks are full
above heavy shadows.
Some think the ground
lacy
in the deep places.
There's marsh
too
with soft
tight dark
closed away
from quick
light,
bald cypress
and moss
a place
for the
small scared,
the warblers,
for subtle
flickerings
of gray
in the blue
and music
fired from cover.
Poems