I know where the birds go
so deep within the mangroves
among the protruding, twisted arms
their safe haven from the storm
knowing the warm wind that blows
better than VIPIR, Bay News 9, or Paul
Delegatto.
The Royal Palms, Australian Pines, and the
mighty Banyan trees all go
every which a way
all day
the gusty breath of Frances
over the soul of all we know
Watching in wide wonder
waiting for the end
even as we ponder
what wilder winds would bring
We feel the power of the storm in this concrete place.
Transister radio drawing pictures
forecasting doom
the anticipation
of our annihilation
so consequential
the warnings just bounce around the
room.
As I read the instructions
on the antique kerosene lantern
brain connecting deep
to our past beginnings
to that place where the seaturtles all go
that place we forget we know
This is what I heard
"No nesting in Florida this year", the lead
turtle exclaimed,
too many storms will come
too many will be named
take cover and wait for this season to roar
past,
your little precious eggs need to last."
The birds, the trees, the turtles all know
that until further notice,
THE OCEAN IS CLOSED!
