… of being are here on United Street. The
Normal pleasures of the sun’s kingdom
The hedonistic body basks within
And takes for granted — summer on the skin,
Sleep without break, the moderate taste of tea
In a dry mouth.
The sweets are here, on this street, on a winter morning in Key West.
It’s Saturday, and behind the little brown house next door, a man holding a lopper stands on a tin roof. From her second floor apartment, UD watches him.
Inside the house, a little girl sings in Spanish, and the man sings with her. He whistles with his birds.
All over Key West people are lopping twice-blooming flowers.
Through UD‘s unscreened door sweet air enters and curls around a ceiling fan. Below her, in the garden, water trickles from a tub into a pool.
Tiny white airships take to the blue overhead.
The leaves of the palms stir.