Valdosta, in Solitary Sun

Here, here am I, beneath the bending boughs of oaks that sigh and shimmer,

Where sunlight lingers, liquid and languid, spilling gold across the glinting streets;
The pavements pulse with heat, a heavy, humming haze,
And I alone am present, and no footfall answers mine.

The river rolls, a restless ribbon, rippling in reluctant radiance,
Its whispering waters weaving a lullaby for none but me;
Birds wheel and waver in the wide, wakened sky,
Yet not one rests, not one calls companion to my solitary gaze.

Porches peer, shuttered windows stare,
Silent sentinels that know my name, yet speak it not aloud;
The town exhales its slow, sun-struck breath,
And I, alone, walk in the hollow hum of its unbroken hush.

O Valdosta, in thy shimmering, sleepy splendor,
Thou art a stage set for one—one soul to wander and wonder—
And I linger, lost in thy languorous light,
Finding, in thy silence and solitude, a strange, sorrowful home.