FROM FAITH TO FOLLY

Live oak lined

the marshland

on the road leading 

to the Atlantic,

to Folly Beach.

In the twisted branches

were the largest alabaster

flowers I’d ever seen. 

They looked like magnificent

magnolia blossoms 

at first glance. 

But they weren’t. 

They were egrets.

This congregation

had made these trees

their temporary perch.

If I were an agnostic 

ornithologist, I’d change 

their flock name 

to something more 

frivolous and less 

faith-based

so I could say:

I saw trees full of folly 

on my way to 

the edge of America.