Louisiana drowned itself when those clouds came to stay
All the photographs sank between floorboards
The street signs dotted corners like buoys,
That way we could still remember where our doorsteps stood
The interstates became names of rivers,
And the side streets creeks.
Those iron birds removed bodies with their
Metal wings spinning above,
But the horns still sing
And the people still smile wide and full of hope

Such a complicated thing.
I just want to write of how the waves move me,
How I have slept for years to the cricket’s song,
When my eyes flood as the fields did the same,
How my hips move when the horn begins to play,
The feeling when the eyes are heavy and the belly full,
I’ve been trying to learn the most direct path to these complexities
But the roads always blur, and my throat does not know the words