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Cody Hartley
In between the rusty moans of the porch swing and the harmonic dangle of
backyard chimes
Underneath the thrum of the nectar-drunk bees in the sunflowers
Below the half tones of the dog stirring in mid dream
There is music.
A breeze twirls on the branches of a box elder,
lilting awhile on the leaves of a slippery elm
The twiddling needles of the loblolly pine mix with the sighing sassafras
The labored cello notes of the crickets as evening settles in
The mockingbird punctuating the chorus like a pennywhistle
High up above, the warbler's song ringing like a one-note mandolin
The rusty hinge of the swinging gate-an accordion
A distant locomotive-harmonica
And in the house, the willowy sounds of fiddle hymns and banjo tunes pouring like honey
from the hi-fi The screen door opens
A smile
A look
A toss of the hair
And outstretched hand
These are the moments when what's required is simple.
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