West Of Clarksdale

by | Dec 22, 2016

Cypress trees stand where the river curls south,
they cast long shadows down the water.
Insect songs fill each humid morning.
Soft feathered egrets stand inside the shade.
Sometimes they fly beyond the village
long abandoned and in flood floated south.
Now and then an old man comes, to search
for his mother’s yard, seeking what is lost.

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