And at Land’s End, a pelican fell.
Bird of my childhood,

I watched them skim
the Gulf each night,

I wore the smoke
of my Granddad’s stogie

as we walked down
towards Bon Secour,

never arriving,
never meaning to.

Maybe it’s for the best
I won’t go back

before the house
is sold;

memories have
undertows

and I’ve never
been good

at holding
my breath.