In the time of Brown Pelicans, he set traps
in the marshes, round Intracoastal way,
down one lone stream, ending in 'off limits'.
When the moon shattered into dawn,
he paddled past mossed cypresses'
gold-browns, burnt oranges, straggling
colors still unsure of cold, warm, frost.
Cold sweat stung clothes tight.
And light rain conjured fog
from the water, the earth.
His dog's barks led home.
Posted: keep out....
Posted: property of....
Posted: violators will be....
Posted: $500 penalty....
In the time of Nutria pups' birth, when snakes
foraged longer, found more, and owl chicks flew,
he floated rafts of timber past
the old eagle's nest.
Driftwood-edged walkway to a door.
Door opening on a shanty, round
Intracoastal way, down a lone stream,
ending in a torn down sign.
Long about twilight you can see him,
dog curled on his feet,
smoking, whittling, on his porch.
Signs shingle his roof,
keeping out the rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem