syra-cuse has nothing on vera-cruz
dear
unknown friend across the sea: it
too has the ocean, the sky, the loss
of the very God we all search for
its road unmanned, left to tatters
and every growing greens: yes
both on the lip sound good, and
each walk a stumble, saints never
happy: searching for that lost little
bit, that moment before the realization
that an ocean is an ocean and it cannot be crossed
