Late nights in a Georgia glade

I lay back and suggest the sky

go blank to suit me

before it pours its colors down

and I converse with them

vein to vein

nested in the shadows of the moon

and with the struggle of imprinted grasses

waiting for the bridges to moan

as the lights of many engines cross them

I remember her sweet

wicked eyes

and want nothing more

to paint me anew

let the vines reach up

on their secret feet

and the waterfalls hold their fire

in the shrink til her lips return

let the blooms of a warrior sun

stand savagely caressing.