Pearl of Great Price

Pearl of Great Price

Word has grazed among the deer

that at last September has sheared the split ends

of the crabapple next to the trampoline, 

and in lean packs of three or four they descend

like evening mist to make amends for long weeks

of this heat. Tonight, though, just one 

comes doeing from the federal protection 

of the Chickamauga battlefield, slipping between

lightning bug blinks in steps light

as bird-thought or the pine-scented secret

the dead keep tight between themselves.

Hush: this is the closest we’ll get

on our side of the screened-in 

porch to the word that means the musk of being

here, that phantom tick itching us 

mad enough to jump our apportioned pasture,

baring the ribbed side of our souls

for a chance at that sour-sweet crunch.