She turns the key in air that hums
No lock receives the metal thumbs
Cypress knees hold silent vigil
Spanish moss drapes cathedral still
Fireflies stitch the treeline seam
Bayou breathes a slow hymn dream
Brass key glows on splintered pine
No door frame holds its design
Spanish moss drinks violet sky
Heron calls the evening nigh
She carries what no lock requires
Altar breath in chapel wires
Gator slides through black water glass
Crawfish mounds like holy mass
Tabby cat on railing walks
Screen door swings on rusted hooks
Iced tea sweats in mason jar
Mosquito coil burns evening star
Brass key glows on splintered pine
No door frame holds its design
Spanish moss drinks violet sky
Heron calls the evening nigh
She carries what no lock requires
Altar breath in chapel wires
Shotgun shells in coffee can
Pewter sky meets water land
Nutria chews palmetto root
Magnolia drops heavy fruit
She hums a Latin mass line
Breath shaped notes on splintered glass
Brass key glows on splintered pine
No door frame holds its design
Spanish moss drinks violet sky
Heron calls the evening nigh
She carries what no lock requires
Altar breath in chapel wires
No keyhole waits for turning here
No threshold marks what disappears
Just porch and water key and hand
The oldest lock she understands
Is not iron not steel not bone
But light that makes the dark her own
Fireflies stitch the treeline seam
Bayou breathes a slow hymn dream
She pockets brass in denim deep
Where shaped notes and shadows sleep
The porch holds what no door keeps
A hymn half sung before the sleep
Brass key glows on splintered pine
No door frame holds its design
Spanish moss drinks violet sky
Heron calls the evening nigh
She carries what no lock requires
Altar breath in chapel wires
Brass key shines on porch boards bare
No door was ever waiting there
Brass glints on weathered pine
Dusk bleeds across the water line
The key stays bright the night stays kind
