Ocean

The ocean shimmers out beyond the orange buoys.

Daylight bends back towards tomorrow.
Maybe rain will fall again one day in this town
of shopping malls and desiccated desert ground.

 And then you may return with a bracelet

of green jade on your right wrist  and
a basket woven of small surprises, salty, wet
on your smooth tanned back. A robust quiet
ripening, your favorite calling card.

Then the ocean’s play with light and wave

will make sense once more.


Then hope shall erupt and rise from the nestled shore
like the slender dancer drunk and lusty wild
at a gypsy wedding.

And then and only then the New Orleans funeral marchers shall

swagger single file down Bourbon Street on a shining day soaked
all golden like dervish saints, their music spilling over
with such sweetness, salt and swelter.