Over Ecuador
By Connor Kaplan
A chain of
mountains splitting the country in half.
Currents of Amazonian
water flow,
cutting through
the mountains like snake
weaving
through the sand looking for water.
On one side
a barricade of trees
housing
creatures of legends and new myths.
On the other
the air smells of saline.
With
farmland clashing with urban life sounds
intrigue the
visitors and the locals.
As the
farmer finishes his long day
cutting
cocoa of the branch, pulling
cassava roots
that taste like potatoes,
and tending
for the livestock they hold dear,
he or she
looks towards the sky as the
sun sets
creating a hue of orange.
As the
cities moon rises the people
turn on the
lights to make night look day.
The forest
chooses not sleep at night,
instead
sounds of frogs and insects chirp loudly,
all through
the miles of vines and giant roots,
creating
songs that each tree listens to.
Off the
coast lays archipelago.
Islands
covered in Darwinistic life,
baffling
wonder of the select few
who come to
the islands of the tortoise.
With iguanas
swimming in the ocean,
finches with
different beaks and colors,
crabs larger
than most birds under the docks,
and giant tortoises
with saddle backs
give these
islands mystery and appeal.
Oh how I cannot
wait to revisit.
Over
Greenland
A current like a noise machine through sleep.
Blue lichen fields. Mossed boulders. Waking up
to ice cubes cracking in a plastic cup
and voices (“awesome for the Hong Kong branch
. . . well, most of all we miss our daughter . . . ”) I still
see it: the climb up slate as runnels spill
from some bare misted summit like a source.
Whatever sense this dream might make
to others. And whatever when they wake
they also have been dreaming. Rivers of faces
down hallways, merging, as desires mesh
and fissure. Cash for clothes or arms or flesh.
And if there is no towering sublime
where all comes clear to all, no final climb
through cloud, like some old Bible illustration:
how could that ever stop the current flowing
out of the glass at JFK:
skin glowing
plumb and peach as we walk inside the sun.
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