WEBVTT

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And then I will read--

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I will close with the
title poem, "Glitter Road,"

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which was the last poem
I wrote in Mississippi.

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And there was a spill
of some purple paint.

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It wasn't quite paint, but it
was weird, and it was bright.

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And it turned out to be
like some sort of dye

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that the water company uses to
look at the flow of currents.

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But it was just like this
big purple stain in the road.

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"Glitter Road."

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I'll take my miracles however
they appear these days:

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A salamander poking its
head above the bricks,

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The shocking blue overcoat of
the season's first bluebird,

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A spider web unbroken.

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At the corner of Molly
Barr and McElroy,

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I saw a thick trail of glitter
in the curve of the right turn

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lane--

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Fuchsia, heavy shimmer
refracting the noonday sun

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as if lying flat,

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A rainbow's extracted hue.

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Not paint, or blood, or
parade shedding its cheer;

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It's the faded streak of eye
shadow as it trails into flecks,

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then disappears.

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I think of cars passing
through this moment,

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Their undercarriages
aglow with possibility.

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Hard not to feel good
riding a glistening wave.

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My tires now bespeckled
with a purple sheen that's

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tough to rid or wash away,

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The road ahead made beautiful
by this temporary shine.

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Thank you.

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Thank you.

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Hey.

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Thank you, all.

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[CHEERS, APPLAUSE]

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Thank you.

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