Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2015  Vol. 14 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Tunnel of Green

sinking into deeper green,
gulls flapping
like circus tents.
I am walking,
walking, always
toward you, trapped
beneath a soft mat
of sky. Flat grass
on either side. Banyan trees.
Wild birds, the likes
of which you will never see.

So much has been lost
or damaged. Coral rock wall,
sweep of evergreen, orchids abiding
in trees. Yes, orchids. None of it ours,
none of it actual. Yet I lived there
for years beside you, moving
room to room, breathing
in the sea. That huge cage
of birds beneath the live oaks,
neighbors calling
to complain. I wish
I had asked one: Do you see me
at the window? Am I real?
Whose dust is this I sweep?  end  

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