NaPo Days 9 and 10

Florida

This evening walk
around Lettuce Lake
begins on the planks
of good intentions.
Palm fronds droop,
like fingers over
railing, over land
sliding below
wetland, and weeds
yielding along an
indeterminable
wave to duckweed,
a false green
carpet to the door
of the lake.
Bald cypresses, wearing
beards of moss, sit
surprised in water,
their grayish knees
breathing above the
rootless bladderworts.
Here, the wading bird
is king, the Great Egret
picking its way between
land and lake, spearing
the temporary frog
to an unexpected
hump of ground. Here,
the roseate spoonbill
swirls the mud.
Even the osprey,
which nests in feather-
tips of trees, must
bury itself in the
lake, wings held up
like an archaic angel
landing on a gravestone,
before rising with
silver in its beak.
And here, reads the sign
in stainless steel
raised by park
authorities, is
Alzheimer’s Walk
that travels two feet
above the bog, two
feet from the leafy
stink, but does not
sink.


Georgia
Flying, flying
so high, circling
the top
five times, I’m flying
into the
mountain
and your mind.
Flying, always flying,
I won’t be landing.
It’s peaceful
up here
above the pines.
Flying, flying
like a bird,
circling the top
five times, I’m flying
into the mountain
and your mind.
Flying, I say,
always flying,
there’s no landing.
It’s peaceful up
here
above the pines.
I’ve always
been flying
into the
mountain
and your mind.

With thanks to Ray Charles 

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