The Presence Of The Manatee

 

The presence of the Manatee moves me, 

a tear drop shifts

I weep not for me only, 

but for the spirit lost, 

all that which we are destroying.

With the carnival drum, 

all of my land's rhythms 

so mine, awake sleepy

aching roots, 

heal new and ancient wounds 

with the shudder of the rump.

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