Calmly Now, Tatum Waterway

Went up to cross you— yes you— footbridge slim, two meters wide and you were long frowning, though ever slightly, over Tatum.

Incorruptible, you always make ways to places not here, as ponytailed Venezuelan boys wheelie cross your parabolic back, and the slow fluid fills the ever-thirsty mouth of Bahía Vizcaína,

who, in the face of language, is in fact, a lagoon.

And the pelicans probe her in the night as the kids make their way, ever eerily, living freely, unknowing of the hurt they’ll soon cause too.

One side a’ you whitely lit and the other is orange aglow,

you trafficker in lascivious secrets,

those of teenagers, the body, the master, a forever reminder that we are all cursed to crossing over;

Something in the water here makes lazy bones.