sweet, round, orange miami
clues to warm grey tundras lie
in the mouth of Biscayne
in the summer and spring vocal tracts of land.

Senior footsteps ceased pleasing
gritty toenails and false photos of sweat

were those waters clear or blue
Air and breath, gas and wind All
pregnant with
ships and rafts and gold wafts
of mouthy, unpleasant gulls.

the shapes of brown skins over plastics
without the color of flesh
stretched from age
then re-stretched by fingers
yellow sun strands caught in a spot of drying blood

no alarm.

Miami taught me to wait.
Taught me to lose things worth losing.


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