Sweet Transmigrations

of the soul in Terrell County

swamplit matin and deer call.

In ’39, Otis Redding’s born

here to die in a Cessna

over a far northern field.

to the dead, a wreath

for the ones born mewing

music, for my father

of Bonhoeffer, who returned

to Germany knowing

he’d kill the dictator

water runs under bare groves.

No one’s as lonely as my father

as he lets the gun go

and falls asleep. At least

one living thing is spared.

Redding calls out

from beyond—

these arms of mine are yearning.

if you would

let them hold you