FLORIDA

We smelled the slanting sweetness
   of thin noon rain on saw-grass

We drifted through watered light
   seeking the still world
                at the sand’s edge

And built our campfires
  on the brink of the green sea.

We slept
  far from the bright afternoon
            and the cries of the bangle-sellers.

In our dreams

                pink-roofed

                                        houses;

               slender moons,

                            drifting,

                                                     fading.

And harps
                          on the floor of the sea.

　

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