The sky is covered with sleeping stars
The thick leaves are moon-shadow filled
I will be up and will walk the fields
As soon as the dew fills the spider’s webs
But tonight I am lost in this dream
I am following the footprints the winds left behind
When they stole all the flowers that fell from the sky
I am sitting on stilled clouds and asking
How does the fisherman know, in his bones
Where he should cast out his fishing net?
I am asking how will I know
When I’m old
In which garden the lillies
Will first come to bloom?
Have you heard the oyster’s
Have you heard the callings,
Of the blue whelks on the beach?
Have you heard the quite poems,
Of the salty, green-glass sea?
Have they said to you,
The things they say to me?
Or, have they whispered mysteries,
Only to your ears?
Neither the sea nor the Everglades,
Are ready to answer my questions.
The sea is forever restless,
And, the Everglades have no voice.
The swamp mud carries dark, magic spells,
And, the Everglades carry curses,
But, wherever you go, there are no caves,
With wind rushing out of their mouths.
They issue no warnings, no premonitions,
They sing no prophetic songs,
They will not tell me the future,
Nor give me a reason to be.
So, how do I know where to go,
To hear the voice of my Sybil?
I am beginning to think,
The questions I ask,
Do not have answers, yet.
Tomorrow, perhaps, they will no longer matter.
But, when I am in the Everglades,
Although there’s darkness in the shades,
The heron’s eyes are very jolly,
And, I am away from melancholy.
The wind is made of merry laughter.
Now, it seems, I can’t remember,
What it was that I came here after.
But, some time in the future,
All my questions will be answered.