2013-10-28

Ometepe

Hey, you, on the island of Ometepe, among the twin explosive breasts of conceiving and wood
(the latter petrified),
You, among the tourists farmers plaintains parrots
(counting any of the last whose napes are yellow)
You, the weird, wired Amazon princess,
You, with the out-of-season breeding season, standing in the feeding area where divergent cycles coalesce,
Winging it
Conversing with the devil
Rising predawn
Drinking coffee damp
Swimming to get dry
Uniformly recounting accounting:
I cannot open my mouth to preach a single word.
How does your sermon flow effortlessly endlessly?
How can the rain reach land?
How can anything be missing?

White Plains, NY 2013.10.27