Breeze so thick you could
make a gravy of it, blue jay speaks into every room,
woodstork eyes lantana below the porch where lizards
bask, bobbing brown heads, orange throat display,
small sunsets closing, bird peppers red beaked,
when she spoke
there was a shimmering, across vast distance, starlight,
we stack words like cordwood, wedged between trees,
we burn relentlessly, sleep in ash, leaf dreaming,
dark mouth of the river, current
swallowing us, as light is split, variations shuffled,
a revelation, technical, precise, a great gathering
awaits, an ever expanding aggregate, we are buoyed
by words that will not splinter,
hog wire fence, thicket beyond,
pines flake bark, slabs and sheets, leaves of a codex
we once burned as if others were being written,
as if demanding a carcass be transformed into sustenance
doesn’t require a different prayer than was once recited,
woodpecker chisels grubs
from flesh of sand oak, crow in the pine speaks of weather,
rain measures itself against palmetto, squat in downpour, we remember we were never alone in the absence
of our companions, shore of fishbone, whistling wind,
fireflies incandescent, fullness of birdsong, with dawn
cormorant fishes, gathering moonlight,
whelk conceals lightning,
oystercatcher has not yet
pried open invocation.
Peach Delphine is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. Former cook infatuated with what remains of the undeveloped Gulf coast and blackwater rivers. Delphine can be found on Twitter.