Derrick Austin

SYRINX by Derrick Austin We are a song without a chorus. His fingers flutter over the valves: crescendo, crescendo, crescendo, legato. Outside, evening’s sulfur blows off the marsh where herons rest, white fires on dead trees. In my dream, I am the reed he plays. Water lettuces haul their skirts, twirling in the undertow. Palmettos fan … [Read more…]