The evening air a sponge soaked
in Magnolia sweat. There’s no escape
from southern belles in denial.
No no reprieve no baptisms in the rain
but still we look for meaning carved
in antebellum inspired architecture.

Nothing here dies except old men
and debutant dreams.
Let us wander these secret gardens
hand in hand unhurried
by the empire-waisted dresses
listing away from the rising moon
under the arms of living oaks
holding up grief-laden clouds.