... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... the South ..., ... the sun ...

we struck gold

at dawn
everything is golden somehow:
brown cracked cherry bark,
shimmering beryl ivy leaves,
pine needles, blackbird’s black back,
even the sky’s steady blue tints green,
through the xanthous hue of everything.

every black and fallen memory
of last night’s Stygian debauchery,
awakens resplendent and new,
only these invisible bruises
from each Midas touch,
reminds the living of why we love
each auriferous day so much.

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