Cypress Nights
Dusk wades in.
Anhinga necks stir shadows.
A humid nightfall laps Cypress knee’s.
where unseen eddy’s bubble and swirl.
Florida evaporates at its lakeshores
where nocturnal-fevers simmer.
We are locked into the chaffing songs
of crickets, the drilling buzz of mosquitoes,
as cypress roots soak in a swampy drench.
Egrets will rise before the dawn
to watch the dark waters
beneath the hang of Spanish moss
light waits, disguised still
as a glint in the eyes of frogs.
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