Letter from St. Augustine #3

Letter from St. Augustine #3

Today I had to make three phone calls
by two o'clock.
Before I was able to complete
the third call,

A suckling pig
Appeared at my door,apple in mouth.
The pig was served up
on the long snout of a roan horse:
I could not speak.
The encrusted brown skin
of the pig'
contrasted exquisitely
with the Apple's green.
I looked the horse
directly in his third eye.
He neighed, whinnied,
reared up,
And the pig fell
to the porch floor.

I thought little of it
and returned to my chore.
Instead of hearing a dial tone
on the phone
instuctions were being spoken
in a recorded voice:
"Tend your kalanchoes so that
they will grow to blossom.
Write a precise history of bouganvilla.
Refine your knowlege of native plants,
And discover more."

I looked out the window.
Thirteen seagulls appeared
in the Northeast corridor.
Swallowtail butterflies were gathering
nectar from confetti lantana
under the Live Oaks.
The warm November sun was crooning
Its confident song:
"I have you now," it murmured,
"and at night, you belong to the moon
and the stars. Why do you not sleep outside?"

I was astonished that the sun had
immediately gone
to the heart of the matter
with a sword of six words.
I fell to my knees and faced the sky.
I thought perhaps I was being prepared
for a Vision.

On my right, in the clouds,
the jaw of a white shark opened.
It was about to close down on a bull
being ridden by a caped matador.
I could not watch.
Nor could I ponder the ethics
of food chain behaviour.

Instead, I wondered why
I was living to be so old.
I turned toward my house.
I had one phone call to go.

Tall sunflowers grew by the side door.
I saw their dark centers bleed into gold.