Cypress Evening
Cypress ‘knee's’ lap in the light
as dusk wades in.
Evening parachutes down,
it plants shallow pother
around ankle-deep trunks.
Anhinga necks stir shadows
under a low moon.
This is the gurgling gills
of a melting evening.
Florida ends at every lakeshore
where night-fevers begin.
A heated gloom that thickens
where bugs quicken.
We are locked into the chaffing songs
of crickets,
the drilling buzz of mosquitoes,
as cypress roots soak
in the dark dank air.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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