Ironic I get sunburned in Buffalo.
In summer heat I can’t even tell.
My 1200 miles abridged in kudzu.
Rows of sumac crowned with fruit;
I’m kindred with allure.
But as a drone, I offer breath;
and charmed, Mosquitos prosper.

Tendrils anchor, spanning more
than deciduous gluttony.
Until last night it hadn’t rained.
Throughout the city, yellow grass.
A bit of anguish preceding wisdom;
A tint of guilt the only hue.
Cicadas cry, it seems, every summer.
And for what else but virgin brethren.
For 15 years one sun forgotten.
Husks become before they’re through.

But evergreen,
do I adore to see the blooms;
and desperate hearts, beating faster
than wafer wings in an ending world.
A snapping turtle died in water.
Minnows nipping at his tail.
Even in death he guards his home.
Still life held onto his roots.