'Re-membering A Return'

Ocean shimmers out

beyond the buoys.

 

Daylight bends back

towards tomorrow.

 

Maybe rain will really fall

here one day in this town

 

of deserts and shoppers

blinded by the unrelenting

sun;

 

and then you might

return with a bracelet

 

of opulent green jade

on your right wrist

 

and a basket

of surprise,

 

wet and spiced

on your tan

pungent back.

 

Then the ocean’s shimmering

will make sense again. Then hope

 

shall rise like a dancer drunk

from joy and sparkling wine,

 

her red dress glowing hot

at a raucous gypsy wedding.

 

And the New Orleans' funeral marchers

swagger single file down Bourbon Street

 

towards the broad muddy river

on a bright day glimmering;

 

they grin together in wondrous
cacophony with father death,

 

they are soaked in salt

and swelter.

 

Their music has never been

so plaintive,

so like a human animal,
being.