Indy

Sometimes i feel squeezed, with the smiles he makes, his manner sleepy easy, swamp lights guide his way, Aretha is playing, by the old Levee, when he broke free, New Orleans was shaking, my hair is washed sea green, evening plashes the glades, knows what he's saying, in a magnolia cotton shade, his long gait and knees, pulls at my traces, he issues a whispered plea, eyes big as lakes we listen to the rain, drum on a roof that creeks, its him again.