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.
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