Ocean Springs

The plane touched the earth again in Orleans Parish
walking , I breathed in the heavy southern air
that spoke of river, and mud, and gulf, and heat,
and swamp lands, in one long-congested breath.

Then off barreling down the concrete highway 
toward Ocean Springs
and catfish and family I go.

The black clouds draped in curdled skin
eyed us, and the wind stirred them slow.
The thunderheads hung heavy and green, 
all hail-stone full.

Rolling across the sky's dark bowl,
blackened from edge to edge
with but a single shining slit lying low to the East.
A sleeping crescent moon lain to nap.

I drug the chair from my motel room
and resumed a seat not sat in years,
upon my soon-to-be stormed on porch.

The slow start of fat drops hitting
dust with a sloppy, full sound.
The rumbled humidity recedes for a few minutes.
My ears savored that old sweet song,
every word and verse.
Amen.