ARRIVAL IN FLORIDA

The jet reaches down
                                 into the clouds
                                                        swimming in turbulence.
It escapes to an ordered mosaic
                                               of ballparks, pools and houses
— One expects
                      giants to come out
                                                  and shake their fists
                                                               upward—
One must fall
                    closer...

When one lands
                        the palms tower above
                                                          the Spanish moss

Does nothing but
                         hang over one
                                               from the Cypress tree.
The coral homes are as bright
                                            as the sun
                                                             and one must
Follow street signs
                           to find the one route

To the salacious sands
                                 where one gazes

Through layers of vapor
                                   past urges

To discern and to judge
                                   to enter and own
                                                              the water

Until one merely looks
                                 from behind
                                                    and does not follow.