Panama Red

Panama Red

I rolled out from under the many teats

searching for my brother.

Last night with eight hours sleep, I

woke alone to an animal in the snow.

We used to watch the carp swim from

way up high on the locks looking down.

Like the carp, we owned the place

slow in our swagger, midnight shores

roll in and out on a moons call. So dark

so gentle we could only hear it. Maybe

it’s a little harsh, the weed in those days,

you knew when you were smoking it.

I imagine you, thinking maybe I could

catch your articulation, place it in a jar,

such gripping syntax—I wondered,

if I could put a color to it—I couldn’t.