Bayou (Poem)
- Blue Beary Studios
- Jun 1, 2021
- 1 min read
Deep rhythms,
dark rhythms,
drumming,
ancient rhythms,
draped like prayer flags,
down from the cypress trees,
swung low like moss,
in the deep summer's heavy vapor,
the river's rhythms play.
Lilting, these melodic ghosts,
drift
from behind the tangle of viridescent
water and mud.
Those great trees,
their branches,
like fingers
letting go of fingers,
as we fall,
the river opens wide,
arms,
and delivers a breathless kiss,
as we drift
into
deep rhythms,
dark rhythms,
drumming,
ancient rhythms,
a gospel of the drowned,
echoing in the kingdom
of the alligator,
and the slithering cottonmouth,
coils swung low like moss
sagging from the cypress trees,
in the deep summer's heavy vapor,
the river's rhythm plays.
bvk, 2020.
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