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

might make sense once more.

 

Then hope shall erupt and rise from the nestled shore

like the slender dancer drunk and lusty wild in her

graced ascension at your first 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,

entrancing us with such sweetness and god-damn, rag-tag

swelter.