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.