in remembrance of oak slats, arrant nouns
a kiss, a ribbon falling off its spool
summers behind flowers, ties beyond towns
gardens without a gate or latch or fool
to journey through life without a number
of names made up for Creole winds and sighs
no weather or regrets yet to plunder
inside the sweet calendula sunrise
when one mosquito sailed by, some lone rogue
captain out for blood, you said our fragrance
was endless- swamp breath, virginity, prose
hot saxaphones and New Orleans vagrants
a wine with too many notes to name one
forgetful, I pinned the list to the sun