One October evening, seeds ride the rain
from pumpkin mouths down to the ditch
where a garden will almost grow. We listen
to the weathervane’s rat laughter & eat too-
cheesy potatoes. Ticks karaoke in the pit
smoke. Shrimp puffs leave you not long
after, much like all the mail from Puerto Rico
must pass through Tennessee. I see a lightning
bug & turn to tell you, but you’re talking
with your father, so I look back & think
This will be our secret, which I also say
aloud to the lightning bug, & the oak
responds by standing there like
the most ancient lung of all time.
