Listen to poem:
Dreams of Louisiana
Dimly lit, I sit
in a Mexican kitchen
near the Tropic of Cancer.
A TV is tuned
to inane noises;
dogs at my feet,
oranges in a bowl
on a table:
a specific place and time.
And I am dreaming --
dreaming of Louisiana
in twilight hours --
dreaming of short winter days and
summer's green, bright mornings.
Country time, mostly empty,
was quiet, seldom interrupted
by human utterance;
but my busy brain
was full of fantasy
and subterfuge.
The world was new, big,
and yet to be explored;
possibilities seemed endless.
Oak and cypress,
willows, pines -- and magnolias --
were all around, and cane fields
stretched for miles.
Change was slow in coming
and childhood lasted long.
The bayous that had always been there
were there still.
I dream now of Louisiana:
poignant vignettes... dreamy glimpses...
all those slowly fading
recalled moments
of the past...
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