Gulf Coast Dialogues

Absurd,
to fear leaves
lifting off the lawn this way,
as if it had to do
with more than rakes and breeze.

But some days, when clouds
palm the paper city
like a magician, and winds
turn helices of rain,
my hat is fished from off my head—
a flash, a downed wire,
a line of ants along the bark
depart in angelic ash.

For the left brain,
all is force and mass,
safe numerical measure
against Elijah’s end.

But the hurricane streets
bear the stench of levitation.
The larvae get their wings
where the math has been mistaken.

Further Reading

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