Havana-made sadness
bearded man lies on his
back in the swamp
behind the mountain
my identity riding
my insides clinging
my face is moving
my face is changing
down through the coastline
over the rolled-up hills
cheap methane musings
all above drifting circles
socialist leanings waft through
empty cabins at the treeline
40 years walks behind you,
a whole world gets in line
