The kudzu vines have swallowed up
the county line signs.
We have entered the nation of summer.
At a roadside stand,
an older woman, lovely
in a yellow shirt, snow white hair
pulled back in a ponytail,
flowers when she smiles.
She opens and she closes,
a simple act that is an older kind of language, how
a beetle might explain
our place among the stars.
the county line signs.
We have entered the nation of summer.
At a roadside stand,
an older woman, lovely
in a yellow shirt, snow white hair
pulled back in a ponytail,
flowers when she smiles.
She opens and she closes,
a simple act that is an older kind of language, how
a beetle might explain
our place among the stars.
