For J.T.E

We have fruit in a bowl, sweet like that summer Harlem sway

It is hot out and the stove is lit.

Hail Mary Full Of Grace.

We eat the fowl with a
wedge of bread.

The Lord Is With Thee

The air is still, like
a 100 year drought.

And we have jam in the jar
the color of a Nashville dawn.

And we rush through the
tree line and into the wood
to watch the birds
peck the devil's chin.

While the sun is out and the
clothes still hang on
the line and our hips
don't yet know how
to aim.