Purple Martin
We raised gourd houses for the Purple Martin
Atop a pole, against a fluid sky
Where late jet thunder spews
A raid cloud--ambitious wonder.
Intense, our Southern sky, like old dreams
Harbors a night's Aeolian pine,
A day's jonquil in oxblood sod
And simmering heat enchanting jejune asphalt.
But room lies yet in sanctuary swamps
For thinning fox grape, hawk and mockingbird..
One idea away from a maze of pipe and brick
On hunger's soulless map.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
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