I watch the drone screens flying over the I-10.
A god caped with a Fleur-de-lis.
Yours is a soul with a brand.
He walks these parts without his coat.
Wrap my feet in lily pads.
O how I love Midsummer’s Night.
This fight never should have happened.
Your boot prints in virgin snow.
Blessed God hewed figurines.
Clothes pins gripping dungarees.