Spanish moss hangs greybearded
and dripping in a Texas coastal rain
lending wisdom to live oaks
tired, not just their beards but even
branches sighing towards the earth.
A pale blue house gels through fog,
rain-blurred pixels crisping into
paint-peeling siding and faded white
window trim with a wraparound porch.
This porch needs a live oak chair
and greybeard wagging, somewhere nearby
echoes of laughter and children racing
through the wraparound. But the house
dissolves in mist as I am watching and a
pale blue warehouse runs beside the
highway, forward along the highway,
through the great stumps and smooth-planed
grass. There are no greybeards anymore.
Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.