What she remembered most from those old days
were the country roads. . .how lovely they were 
in their run-down, weather-beaten condition,
how the alligator weed and zoysia grass grew 
and threatened to overtake the roads. . .
how they had just enough traffic 
to keep them going.

The air is netted, ripe and green
with pollen--a hundred million
fetishes insinuating themselves
into each and every word
we utter, think, or write.