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by Greg Gregory
That morning the coatimundi came to our table on the patio.
It ate the fruit we offered. We all crave sweetness.
A tropical snake walked its jaws around a struggling frog
in the radiant ginger gardens. Always one in Paradise.
The iridescent morpho is said to pull souls into this dripping forest
with its blue wings and silent glow. Those easily tempted are lost.
The Jesus lizard always escapes. It runs on water. We cannot.
It lives its life in this Eden. We live in Eden's illusion.
We imagine what we don't have but always wanted.
We send back postcards telling of the dreams of paradise we found.