The streets of Baton Rouge
And the dark swamps of a Louisiana College are lit by dim road lamps under the white moon
High above the clouds. Illuminated. Reflected in a black lake.
Smoke rises high from the distant line of trees.
As I catch the faintest smell of cooking shrimp.
A car drives down to light the road
Before leaving it again in darkness, so
The road’s lit only by the flame of aging lanterns
Which stand guard at the foot of a white Southern mansion.
Ren Michael 