the skyline around here is a water tower
and a cross affixed to a baptist church
it is gentle pink kissed to lavender
and swirl of cottonseed still in the air
it does not apologize for the haze of starlight
and moon fastened bright against the sky
painting the earth a shade of blue
and we rest here
which is to say languid
that is a refusal to quicken our pace here
we are front porch until dusk
and lemonade
and we know your mother's maiden name
we master the rhythm of slow drag
the same time we put a drawl in our speech
and we grow here
like sunflowers
on borrowed time and tobacco
watching the seasons change in the clay
the scent of willows bowed low in the air
and a cool breeze on a warm day
are bustle enough when we understand
this miracle of moving slow
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