Leaving Florida

Maybe I should be writing
While the rain hits the window in the airport
And the smell of your jasmine perfume still feels fresh,
And lingering
Like the feel of the shell-covered sand
And the green water around our shoulders, the pool floats
Getting stuck by a palm tree from Madegascar along the river

"And when they happen, will you recognize them," asks the driver of the car that takes us to the airport, away
From Florida, and each other, telling
Us about confetti in the river, and magic.

The rain comes harder. October is not so far away.
We need to drop some weight, so we can fly.