New Orleans, 2005*

Drained
of voice,
even need,
it’s secure
as the sea
it now makes peace with.

Sure runs in the blue veins
of those gone—
elsewhere.
The same magnolia blossoms
around Evangeline.
At her side drops a pintail.

Its still eye
pictures Venice by default.
No jazz
for the Duke,
what with the croaking
of politicians.

All cities are returned
to the land
like Atlantis.
No heir is untrue.
She will take us all in
again: me, even him, you.

*Lines written in witness of the aftermath of Katrina, a hurricane that destroyed the U.S. city.