So maybe, just maybe, the Poets have taught me to embrace the me
That is me
With all its mud and dirt dirt durty

My native Floridian
With all its humidity
With its divorce, its absence of fathering
Subtracted roots and substance of
Of roots sinking deep
Into the mud where mollusks breathe

And the gulf breeze blowing in across the Pine Island sands of tumidity
I accept the gifts of Gulf
So bequeathed to me.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, August 5, 2017, Florida, U.S.A.



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