|
MEXICO Tesoro |
|
| Some of the iconography is not entirely clear. The stapled fragment of text might have been included by someone who doesn't read, and therefore holds the Book more sacred; the integrity of the sentence has become the least important part of its holiness. | |
|
In the morning, as I leave, I’ll stop and open my tesoro’s tiny clasp, and tuck inside a little piece of Grass.
|
|
|
day 01 I was up into the morning star. Car packed, walking the dog, and there was that forgotten swell, that tension in the breath: on the road, leaving behind all this getting through one day after another; on the road. I started the trip counter 60 miles up the highway, about the limit of my island horizon. Flattened z’s of flying herons in the watercolor dawn are as miraculous as always, and now even more beautiful because this time they have become a part of this excerpt from my working island days. The view from the 38 bridges, water in uncountable shades of blue and green and brown with the compact black-green wool of mangrove islands floating above like mythic Avalon, has always been a wonder. Now, with Beethoven on the tape and 1000 miles before me like a quivering lover, I feel like crying as if I really were in love. |
|
Everglades ballad In the Pines Homo Pyrotechnicus Watching the Shuttle
|
|
