Keeping the memory of a cinnamon sea

Salted with tears and blood that are proof of life,

We tremor on our braid of the bayou

At the elbow of the Cajun and the Creole

Where our buckets bring up more catfish than cool water —

So stagnant, its marsh gives no succor to thirsty elk

So somnolent, its stream seems to slog nowhere.

But some day we must sleepwalk to the sea

Where all water, all life flows on