poem || Keith Higginbotham

The That
 
in was and were
and hung
moon rhyme
To. ward
 
(5) the you
of beheld summertime last
 
profits hitch—O tightly pale the up
 
(4) I'd from blossoming beneath
bathed the
beauty I've rolled moonlight want
 
softly beach stood
to free-
smelling crime and
(3) Conjures not
 
pants
the immortal stars
of me (2)
of, curled
of
 
undressed (vowels bar your
rock in; folded from
wilted songs
cloaks
Of
 
love-stuck with
toes croon notes (1) unrest in