Florida

I came to find again the fresh fountain With footprints of Conquistadores framed In mud: residue of a brick mountain From behind which white anger once had flamed. The missing fort was not all time displaced But cougars dying without an escape From your history. Wrapped in me and disgraced I saw the Caribbean full landscape Wilting in the salt of mossy lakes. I Saw men like cougars unwilling to die. I found the seasons changed into bright cold And the evening sun the only sure gold Above slithering gangrene of jagged sea I found birds strumming on the fret of glee But nowhere could I find the thing I sought Beyond the migrant men in a dream caught.