antilia

the shape of islands like a long bent arm
with elbow made of tiny bones and hand
brushing the southern continent caressing
the openings of the orinoco like a seasoned
lover or spouse the deep sense of knowing
that comes from long experience the dusky
maid of fevered dreams and earnest hopes
is less a maid than a brown-eyed calculator

just so with these rocks the volcanic and coralline
the shapes created by tectonic forces the fires
and quakes that come and come again with all
the force that winds and rains above combined
to make and remake and destroy and the old woman's
wisdom that says that all has been before and will
again is forgotten till we need most urgently to remember
the fires above and below when they meet are a small
apocalypse and turn the eyes to gods as blind
as the hard rocks they come from but the spray

coming from africa the winds emerging out of europe
the cold out of america they come they go they mark
the times and seasons almost here forgotten
this is no paradise a half-wild garden its fruits as bright
to poison as to feed and yet it calls us it speaks it names
us children and we wary of its anger call it mother
and only monster when its back is turned