Whisper of the leaves
From knotty, knotty trees
With knees over knuckles
Under mounds and towns
Of anty fire ants
Propping up briars
Cresting up crumbly
From hills upon trees
Kneading fence posts.
Those round about ghosts
Seen from hills way above
Mist valleys way below.
Whispers of leaves whose
Tic tac grieves curtain
And repel glances, lances
Of a setting town at sunrise.
Anty fire mounds,
Around, about, down,
Down a riverless state
Of no, no risen night.
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fire-ants-gonna-gitcha/
