Out of the cattails

Fog in his throat

Polka-dot hollow-body hanging by a frayed old rope

Boots leave ripples on the black glass shore

Every step he takes

The night leans forward

Neon gnats in the air

All stuck in place

Even the crows hold their breath

Mid-phrase

Ghost in polka dots

Cutting through the heat

Every note a thunderbolt

Right through the peat

Striking through the wet sky

Waking what we tossed

Things under the riverbed turning in the moss

Ghost in polka dots

First chord hits

And the cypress shakes

Dragonflies flash like shattered plates

Old cans

Dog tags

Rusted hooks

Twitch in time like they’re learning how to look

All that silt-sleep

Coiled and content

Now it hums with a crooked accent

Scales in the mud start whispering names

Shells on the bank roll back in the waves

Bare roots reach like a thousand hands

Pulling that storm-song deeper in the sand