Savannah seems less silent than it is here,
warmer at the tips of the calendar.
Mossy foliage and cobbled up sidewalks,
farther away than its predecessor.
The city on the hill, where dew sticks longer than in most places.
Scattered urbanization nestled between cavernous connections,
stretching far east to west.
Hold me stalactitightly around the back of the donut shop.
Take pictures in the violet light of the parking lot.
Walk with her down the street where gas stations
and drive throughs greet each other at the traffic light.
Second hand stores, guess who games across the clothing rack.
Dollar bill folds that reminisce the structure of a work schedule.
Behind the counter of a coffee shop,
sorting out 300 for each register.
Zippers and cotton, stained with acrylic paints and watermelon spurts.
Encapsulate the field trips, the search histories,
the shoebox dioramas, the parade floats,
the certificates, and the haircuts that make you less
recognizable each year.

Take off the long sleeve button up you hang over your shoulders,
put it on the green chain link outlining the cemetery.
Dance in the grass that struggles to meet the concrete.
Adorned with dandelions and wildflowers that remind you of
miniature hydrangeas.
Put your chesapeake on a lead and take her to the field
across from your log cabin.
Walk alone now and listen to the greater albums of the 21st century.
Watch the barns topple and the agriculture wilt up,
find a heroin needle that’s bent over at the tip.
Long for a cellar that was filled in last April.
Thank her for bringing you those months of isolation,
without them you wouldn’t have let yourself go over again.
Maybe you could have made do walking to the river instead,
where the dock has begun to rot and dirt latches onto the wood.

Her music scene astounds me, all ages shows at the outdoor stage of a bar
just outside the square. Too many high schoolers on the last night.
Nobody moves just right with the drum,
intoxicated 19 year olds fling each other in a circle motion between the crowd.
Stolen stickers or postcards traded between blades of a grove or razors.
Art show radio, sound cassettes of a nordic choir.
Eternally bright bluegrass baby,
faded flag folded over a western Kentucky lady.
Tennessee touches me more eloquently in nature's spirit.
Separating my hair like the parts in water
when you run your hand through it at heavy current.
A stream settled between stones embedded with clear quartz.
She shimmers like a city dancer
heart aching, unrequited romancer.