of slash pine,
and unbroken in line
the columns of the Parthenon,
from the spiked fans of palmetto,
the surf sound of breeze in their crowns.
are treble notes of birds and insects.
sounds on the perimeter
constant, but here still few enough
stand apart from one another.
in the middle of the day
they can only be seen through narrowed eyes.
west, light through leaves and edges of bark
like a candle glowing through a slice of agate.
and gold and bronze: luminous
against a sky as blue as nothing else but sky.
discover spots of tiny wildflowers,
the margins of woods,
bits of lost jewelry under a carpet edge.
fought my way here
- as if I were fighting for the surface and air
- from ten fathoms deep.
after all, the road spilled ahead
a shiny ribbon torn from a gift,
thought I would split
- from wanting to laugh and cry together,
if I were a ripe pod
- hanging on an autumnal branch,
polished shell breaking
- to send little winged seeds of delight
- flying to every wind.
if I were suddenly in love,
if I were breathless with love.
the planet reckons time,
land is a newly budded leaf
- on a new-grown continent.
here is shallow-rooted
- expecting to fall and resurrect.
roots suit me.
I reach too deep in old dirt
grow stony and cold.
as water from a just-discovered spring
the songs of birds I donít know
greetings from fellow-travelers, just met
the living artery of the road between the pines.
I laugh out loud to myself,
- and the sound makes me laugh and cry again
- and my laugh runs away on the ribbon road
- and climbs to the crowns of the pines.
Pine Key Camp