Poinciana

Poinciana
by bill shively
sometimes a thought paints rouge
footprints
at the waters’ edge
sometimes her legs make the guard
dogs whimper
eyes glint like the last glacier
mercury rolls silver blue
when she laughs
and she doesn’t know why
when she laughs
so long
she starts to cry
set up some chairs and maybe a
couple of tables
settle in and watch her live
maybe pull a couple corks
sip her all
or quaff and gargle
a slow long freight
sliding across the night
from the toes up
the clouds are low and soft
as the sun wakes her
a cat scratch quilt stretch
redder than hyacinth
maybe she smells
poinciana
there is not volcano I want nearer
while the neighbors cast their
first nets in the light

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