On Cocoa Beach
I am revisiting the idea of Florida, giving my vertebrae
a vacation from all the faded bouquets of urine in New York
and the darkened policies of snow in Vermont.
I am revisiting the idea of my wife’s imperial gaze;
her three-cheese quiche and fluted mimosas
are the masters of my mornings.
I am revisiting the idea of lawn furniture.
By late afternoon on Sunday my face blossoms
like a passion of lilies as I admire the spectral grace
of the sandhill crane or am caught lost thinking of Castillo
de San Marcos and the first people Timucua.
I am revisiting the idea of light and laughter and skin,
half-transported by wind. I like to think of myself
beside the crepe myrtle pondering the logos
of palm leaves and the kindnesses of beaches.
You can have your sororities of pain and darkened subways.
I will give myself to the great battles of clouds and surfs.