Seed Pod

The troops are sweating
the people for cover

Elisions, drought, moving vehicles
are all places to shoot from

Inside the souk you can still find
seeds and good company

draped in the  scent of evening
under a widow’s garden of fossil light

Bargaining with god is what makes you sick
In the orchestra pit, everyone’s head tilting to the side

like cormorants, listening for what comes next
A beggar’s sign by the roadside: Make me leave you alone

Diana Nyad swam from Cuba to Florida
at age sixty four, without a shark cage, on the fifth try

Like a seed pod off the coast
drifting, swelling, nearly bursting

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