appalachian dirt

rain tickles the tin roof above my sleepy head

a train whistles in the distance

i am transported to evenings from my childhood

parkstone court 1997

southern drawls and domestic squalls

still growing up muddy

in this middle-class appalachian dirt

silk mirror

we moved like molasses

under the brilliant, slow-rising moon

thirty-three goats laughed in distant shadows

the sea lapped the volcanic shore

i can’t make these things up

the only thing between us

the fabric of the air

a silk mirror

walnut eyes

no mystery

walnut eyes tell all

spilling wide open

pouring out adoration

saturated,

my cup runneth over