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poor. paradise.
for James Scully
we weren't on our land or with our people and so we were always without and so we were always our own people and we only ever wore our hearts in our chests the fish- camp was so hot and lonely we parked underneath a palm and climbed onto the bus roof each night to pick coconuts for the dog which he would chew we never forgot anything when we drove to the post office we were never without each other I refused to live anywhere else I needed to feel that we could escape in a moment and when we did another boat would be had another hotel room to clean another blood dream carried only the shrimp man was awake as he tended to his pods only the mangroves breathed warmly around us |  |
