Another lost summer

Though it is winter, and the north:
I see them.
An echo of colour
overlaid on flap, flutter and rise
Up through the grey, the brown,
the chill.
A distant summer splash.

I been tryin’ to get to New Orleans (Can’t you help me?) Part 2

Blood, bones and wood.

Steel, stones and rope.

Flowed across the world and into the river’s mouth.

Cut, burnt, buried, built.

Fields sweat, bleed and weep.

And so crops rose.

Out of these fluids, these lives

A bittersweet melody rose.

A longing for home with no chance of arrival.

First, flat third, fourth, flat fifth and back to first.

Different soils, different bloods, different times.

Knitted to past, present and future.