sun(light) control

a crippled moon

   fog and bergamot

 fill this dusty air-

nocturnal dreams

   days in between

years with sixty-seven

 Sundays

June Bugs 

meet me at the 

mailbox-  

  my neighbor and her 

snake eyes- resurrect

the feelings 

for a sad Spring

that starts

at the ground

and rattles my bones

enough 

    to destroy the 

levee-

   cotton cottages

 and alligator allies

my love belongs

to the old man on 

     Main Street