Let Me Count The Ways

my love for you, Louisiana
is tied up in history
in golden eyes and
Anne Rice novels
and wild drumbeats
and voodoo

it has something to
do with bayous
and mystery
and the way the word
'Creole' tastes like
chocolate with orange
on my tongue

it has more than a little
to do with velvet skin
the color of ripe honey
and the sound of my
heartbeat in my ears

it is the vaguest feeling of homecoming
and the almost-remembrance
of a life once lived.

Far From The Maddening Crowd

I will not forget the feeling
of something in my hand,
looking down,
nothing there.

And then there is also this:
the feeling of being lost
in unfamiliar territories
a thousand tribes
different languages,
ten thousand dialects
none of them my own.
And no one here with ten things in common with me.

No better. Just different.

Utterly.