We came upon the delta, we, brothers,
split out from the blue wide river,
contrapuntal and lost among cypress,
moss, muck and brute-teeth jangles.
And though I never carried a tune,
I carry the tone of your faded fifths,
your deviled tri’s and slip-foot riffs,
an octave less than finding you gone.
But in these stale bite-fly airs,
in this green moss-dripped fiction,
better hoped than hung as fourths
for a firm resolution – I know
You perch upon a stone, not lay beneath it,
and pluck the roots of black mangrove.
Image: Hayden Dunsel on Unsplash
Devon, reading your most current writings I find myself in a world uniquely yours, yet offered to your readers/followers… encasing them in a solidity of poetic excellence.
Thank you Lance. You are very kind. And I appreciate the time you take to read and comment. In a world of silence, a kind supportive word changes the tenor of the day to one of joy.
My sincere pleasure, Devon. So very true- it helps to keep us motivated.