That the sun begins its life in the palm through the eye
That the poem must be ignited in the heart
That the poet must be ready to jump off the edge smiling
And the clouds of white move across the morning sky blue
And everything has a mouth and a stomach
That the end is only the beginning
And these circles I make with my mind have reason
And my bones will remain in the ground after I die
That the smoke will remain rising after the fire
And the whole ground was burnt in a grey texture
The green and the golden of the saw grass swaying tantalizing
Taunting the loneliness in my shoulders and arms
That the afternoon descends in a purple hidden
In the cypress until it too awakes cautiously
That the soul wonders alone in a watery forest
That the sun sets in an orange yearning
(I will not soon forget the feeling of vastness
An open prairie and the emptiness involved)
That the gate to heaven is locked tightly
But one can slip in backwards on their spine
And the moon will shine if it can like a pearl
Hidden in the bottom depths of space like a seashell
And the somber piano cords of the night descending
Can make even the strongest man cry
That the salty streaks are like rivers to the ocean gliding
That one never truly wakes, wakes from the dream
That the sun will rise tomorrow.

repeat swamp, desert
same thing to this
damp mind. cold
soul. Sold
a long time ago
searching for my poems
in drawers
in deserts too
no more shores even

This is the remains of progress
Pale dry dirt exposed in the
Tropical air rising out from the
Ground showing no sign
Of an ancient city constructed
No signs of life now but
Below below and out of sight
Is where the Crayfish waits patiently
In damp tunnels narrow
For a change to come.

Blurs of new growth needles in
Green patches on the horizon
In the afternoon I looked at
Cerisa the god of uncertainty and she
Smiled gold fears at me and later it was
A sunset expressed in fractions no
Complete notion of day or night
And night was compressed light
As Eric the god of thought held his
Chin up to the moon
And me the god of loneliness could not get over
How simple how simple the clouds were
In the midnight shadow could not get over how
How beautifully silver they were

There is a path that leads to the heart of the swamp
That navigates the land like a vein
Start out from the Oasis Visitor Center and head south
Toward the Ocean like a single drop of rain
Fallen from the ancient summer storms
Along the way you will become much more than yourself
You will become part of the swamp and part of the cypress
The air plants will hang on your flesh and the spider webs
Will break on your sweaty face and crawl in your hair
Take your time and become patient because things will gradually start to show
Like a dead crawfish dry as a bone
Or an apple snail shell floating on cracked mud
Here there is both life and death
And now you are beginning to believe in neither
But be patient because things will start to show
Like the red tongues of the air plant
Reaching out to lick your swampy skin
Or the pale ghosts of the Spanish moss
Hanging like questions from your arms
Out here you will feel miles from anyone
And the best part is you are miles from anyone
Out here you will start to understand yourself
Your complexity just like the habitats scattered
Mixed in pieces like an ancient puzzle
One minute cypress another minute saw grass
One minute sunshine radiating another minute shade.

But continue navigating this vein and you will reach the heart
Its beauty beating loudly now the green trees are pulsating
Around your blue lungs you breathe in the air and feel refreshed

The living green ferns are reaching out to grab you
Hoping to take you away forever in the swamp
The living green ferns are reaching out to take you away now
And if you feel like you are ready, let them.

For how long did you know my father?
For how long did you help him make bread in my grandfather’s bakery?
Was he genuine like me?
Was my father shy? Was he timid?
Was he strong and bold?
Did he ever hide any secrets?
Secrets hidden deep within his flesh and bones?
Please think carefully about this
Did you ever see my ancient thoughts in his lonely brown eyes?
Did you ever know his brown hair would be my brown hair?
His eyes would be my eyes?
His flesh my flesh?
Did you ever think that my father was like a book waiting to be read?
And that I was his words invisible until now.

I walked out from Eric’s trailer at 10:15 P.M.
I opened the metal door into a world of darkness
And nothing was known
I stepped down onto the crushed limestone that led home
My feet wrapped in soft flesh
With limestone pressing its white edge against my cotton skin
Like the way it rubs the back of the silver swamp sleeping
The night was damp cool and windy
I could smell the tropical cold in the air swelling
It pressed against my face like a soldier
It said to me, “I am to be reckoned”
It was a chill against my spine
I continued walking toward my house as if
Not knowing anything more than myself
A blink and another thought given but
Here I could only hear the sound of the wind
Rustling the branches of the cabbage palm
It was like a snake in my mind
Another gust of wind and I was further
Now all I could think about was the stars
Candles in the distance
Mysterious and deep as the flowered orchids nearby
Cast forever in the forested dark
They were holes into time
Gleaming bursts of something I will never understand

More limestone stretching against my cotton feet
More fears and more anxiety
More beautiful unknown and more gleaming fires
More of life and understanding and love
More of me feeling like a sword
Cast between the bridge of fear and love
Falling like a tear into the ocean of the night.

A few minutes of time spent between Eric’s trailer and my house
February 11th, 2012