Clearing the Florida Coast

A gauze of blue tiles - contradictions at 8 a.m.,
the harvest of ascent. A quiet sea broken

by two white troughs, yacht calligraphies.
A horizoned stare thickens the air

into a white arctic depth hovering
over the soon Bahamas. Climbing still,

the plain illusions pull away like worn bandages.
Having dozed a watch-confirmed four minutes,

my eyes now settle on a smaller vaster sea,
pudding skinned. What dreams make boil

no stirring will calm. Nata in Spanish, the creamy
shell of boiled milk. Born indeed. Culled cells,

like all the quick, are urgent to claim breath.
Embryo is raised by the weight masonry

of living, that lurch to creature that drives
...