Postcard from Flamingo
At midnight, in Flamingo,
the dark palms are clicking in the wind,
an unabashed eroticism.
Far off in the red mangroves
an alligator has heaved himself
onto a hummock of grass
and lies there, studying his poems.
Consider the sins, all seven all deadly!
Ah, the difficulty of my life so far!
This afternoon, in the velvet waters,
hundreds of white birds!
What a holy and sensual splashing!
Soon the driven sea will come
lashing around the blue
islands of the sunrise. If you were here,
if I could touch you,
my hands would begin to sing.