We have come from the bitter city to heal ourselves. We have come looking for a patch of beach not yet built into a fortress of real-estate greed, a coral reef not yet picked clean of buried treasure, not yet bare of birds. The first night in the Keys, I dreamed I was a bird soaring over a hilly city, soaring & dipping like a gull or egret. & I thought: “Ah—this is a flying dream! Enjoy it.” But I really think that my soul had been transported for a night into the body of a bird & I was flying. I woke up exhausted, arms weary, eyes red. The beach was dazzling with its white sand, the sun blinding, & I seemed to know the palm trees from above as well as below. They root in the sand with elephant feet, yet they also root their delicate fronds in air. & these are a comfort as you fly half bird, half human through a dream of sky. Everything was new to a spirit so divided between two kingdoms. The water was alive with fish, the air with birds & palm fronds, clouds, thunderous presences of rain gathering & parting, & fiery sun playing through.
