Parched and roasted dunes
July’s sting has passed
ribbons of sand spun beach roads
in these white-on-white days
dragonflies whizzing through the backyard
carried by a clear dry wind
cool as a gin martini
passing over the tongue.
Prehistoric-looking ficus trees
fountains of elliptical leaves
with air roots slinking to the ground
in contractions and coils;
palms of every shape and size
sprout like vigils
from a flat line of lawns
that run unafraid to the water’s edge.
Their trifle of silver, green, and golden frowns
arching like drawn swords
raffle the afternoon sun’s chant
in a cleansing soft timbre
that sounds like the rustle of money.
Parrots screaming like game-show winners
break the sky with a boa of chartreuse clatter,
a whirling exchange of transistor voices
the same ones I hear
when I can’t decide
whether to stay with you.
The ocean opens its ancient canvas
breezes appear from the African coast
blowing the kiln of time forward
exhaling in a deep drag
that stirs the geckos to scatter
in a fury of black and brown tails and talons
surrounded by bobbing red hibiscus
and blades of heliconia
under light so blinding
it opens our pupils their furthest.
