It can get cold in Louisiana.
Colder than northerners know.
We can plug in the heat in the kitchen
But cold air finds the holes in the floor.
It can get cold in Louisiana.
Rice fields fields drawn in brown and grey ink.
But right there in winter, I’ll show you a flower
A cornet cast in purplish pink.
Azalea, I won’t fail ya.
After our party last weekend
When the band and the dancers had gone.
The rain and the flames and the mud and the boots
Together had conquered the lawn.
I thought on how everything transforms.
Fire to smoke, smoke to air, air to breathing.
I thought on how everything’s transforming me
But I’ll change like a tree, slow and even.
Azalea, I won’t fail ya.