Four professors and six years ago, we gathered under moss trees in the bayou and started writing in our pirogues. Now we find ourselves miles apart longing for carports filled with the smell of crawfish under a blue moon. This is our correspondence with one another. These are our stories.
Waking to weight of white
against evergreen, doves balance
on plastic perches to feed. Woodpeckers
trill as finches red and gold flutter
between clumped falling flakes.
