Getting A Little Deep

Getting A Little Deep

you smile, 'these aint your average daisies.'  
'people dont know,' i laugh-stumble into a pitch of

passion flowers, petals teeming with fire ants in the

sable humus. you lift me back out, i sting sweetly.

a bird sings, a turquoise beetle pauses on the

spined-edge of a green maple leaf before the

black lake of knees. tiger-striped dragonflies

our shin-level guides, we tilt heads-back to feel

the rain on our dusted faces.

there in the wet, morning glories traverse the

frown frozen in the live oak bark. its chin, dark

honey, seems to chide. the whole of the egret

that lands on the acacia is not so wide as a Dickens

short story, thin as any new tablet, surely.

heron looks up but not at us, thru yellow frames

as things get steamy, we are quiet; we consent to

biting flies, avoid the poisoned oak and ivy.