You always seemed unreal, like a cloud, a phantom

You always seemed unreal, like a cloud, a phantom
in the evening that I can't describe, a spirit
without a body, a nothing that somehow sits
in my blood and among the bayou. You are the custom

of my ancestors, the truth lying at the bottom
of the well that I can't share, you are the limit
of my seeing. From the broad earth I inherit
my feeling, from the rivers I get my freedom,

from the mountains I get words. I am the being
of trees and rain, you're the language that I trade
with the walls and birds. It seems they're agreeing

with the argument of the verse. The slight grade
of your back and hip has dazzled my poor seeing
and from nowhere I watch the changing shades.