Forgotten armadillos--
victims of the Sun’s
beaming face—litter
the entrance along
the highway, like desiccated
corn husks.
The horizon, a New Age
pastiche of shades
whose names I never
learned from the simple
colours of
my youth.
Three-hundred-and-sixty
degrees of virescence
disguises wildlife:
scornful mockingbirds,
grunting coypu;
the midnight baby-rattle
of timber snakes.
Momentary lapses
of solitude
broken only
by your imposing
body heat
a reminder
that I have
an accomplice
to this intimate
encounter
with nature.
victims of the Sun’s
beaming face—litter
the entrance along
the highway, like desiccated
corn husks.
The horizon, a New Age
pastiche of shades
whose names I never
learned from the simple
colours of
my youth.
Three-hundred-and-sixty
degrees of virescence
disguises wildlife:
scornful mockingbirds,
grunting coypu;
the midnight baby-rattle
of timber snakes.
Momentary lapses
of solitude
broken only
by your imposing
body heat
a reminder
that I have
an accomplice
to this intimate
encounter
with nature.
df parizeau is a pushcart nominated, french-canadian writer, who has more teeth in his mouth than the average adult. his work has been featured online and in print by a smattering of publications. he has a firm belief in the 3-0 curveball and that cherry is the best pie. Twitter: @belowtheeaves, Website: dfparizeau.com.