Living the Georgia-Florida Line
She and I walk the glass
sheen of the Okefenokee Swamp
shallow, the peat-filled wetland
cutting the sky between the ancient trees.
Infinite things have happened.
Infinite things await.
Satan plays a shell game under the mirrors
while the seeds presently each have a name.
Of us did Jeremiah prophesy?
This fortified city, one, as we all move in pairs,
pillars of iron, an elevated wall of brass to be made
to turn our loving face upon the whole land.
Of us, and here, did Christ speak?
No prophet is ever accepted in his own country.
Of this Eden, shall every Adam and Eve leave
and make heaven of earth far from here?
Take my hand, she says. We share the present.
And walk the water.