Elimer, Kentucky

I have come to the backwaters

through the brotherhood of the briar

and the fellowship of biscuits

and squirrel gravy at table

for everyone, leastways them

who finds the way to come.

If I look back well enough I

can just remember cannon fire

still vibrate my bones, ‘cause,

well, Blood will tell, as they say.

These are the stonegrave days

before the advent of resurrection:

bluets, daffodils, and squirrel corn—

precursors to divine forthcomin’.

Here, it is Easter Eve. Windstir in

wild mustard is light on open water

that laps newgrowth gone blind

to the currents in the sky.