From Towards the Forest

The Green Sea


This day is harsh with blowing sand
& hordes of scattering birds—

glints of glass, broken tongues.
   
On the boardwalk a man comes too close, swerves away.

Someone's in a corner scraping paint.

There is no face beneath the hood.

Everyone’s features work loose in sunlight:

white woman, brown man, newborn,
the starving, the clusters of homeless,

the running.

  Last night I danced alone

under veils of urban smoke, remembering
fireflies in a jungle, Yucatan moss as a bed,

the religion of lust confounding love–
the way it always comes first–

the deep green weeds of it.



©2007 Holaday Mason