turn toward leather as the trees
blush, scatter a last
few bright, weary wisps across
the great bruised heart of the South.
The spirit cup drifts
down the pond's moon-sparked highway.
Far laughter, shadows.
Love or poison? Your turn. Drink
to the star-drenched latitudes!
|Copyright © 2011 by Rita Dove. From Crossing State Lines, edited by Bob Holman and Carol Muske Dukes. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.|