For corn-crisp breezes
and honey-light curtains of warmth
I patiently wave along the gaudy parade
of blooms and greens pungent and starched.
A sultry thunder-clacking storm floats
on clouds wrangled from the East, and I
count double-time for the sacred
lull of a season bellyful, shade sleepful.
Choired by the locust hum, the backyard pecan
will whispersing a rhythm of silky tambourines,
A Beat I Can
move to, tap toes to,
close eyes to,
sing songs to.