she casts
the lasso up
to the snarling
skies and ensnare it
with the burning rope
it's back breaks in
the wind
like a torn sail

it tangles
in the lunar cavity
descends effervescent stars
like honey dripping
down a string
into hidden
alcoves of the golden
cathedral

here, my love
see my arms heave
the bruises
that adorn me
like the jewels of
an african king
i have brought you
the moon

we went down
with our cold steel tempests
swollen lips screaming
out aggressive effervescence
watching the tide
break the backs of those tendrils
gripping onto the coral heads
and twist them in the dark blue

he took his boy
down to the water
alone in that salty
white sun
and sat on the washed- up concrete
touching the sand
before bicycles and old ladies
with their flowery dresses and their
tinkling bangles
and wide swaying hips selling
their mangoes from a cardboard sign
and the boy went into the water
blackening his shorts
ribs tight beneath his ebony hide
and ran up against the shore
casting his arm like a shakespearean
bitten fingernails cupping
as his brown hands and scored fingers
dripped with the sharp *** of seaweed
he had brought for his father
with nothing else to do
on the monday afternoon

and booming caves
sing like discotheque under
the grey seagulls
an aroma like blood as the waves
shatter my spine
take me under

fishing wire twined and strangling
his dark fingers
catch the silver bullet of the sea
old stranger wearing white
casting his line and as
he reels it in bows like a wide
sail in the blunt storm
catch the silver bullet of the sea

the dying passerine
throws out her white cloak
into the placid wind and in
plaintive tone recounts
the primordial sufferings
of orpheus, for she was his
divine muse
she cries, finally
and so fades in
tendrils of sound
into the reddening dawn
blood spills on the blue tile of the sky
the eternal palindrome
of rebirth

hands, cheeks, chin, nose
pressed yellow against the
warm glass
the sun has no obstacles
but the effervescence
of the bubbling mirage
cast in the grass
near the reflection
of your blushing toes

hold me
orpheus with pale skin
atop the white cliffs
where the foaming waves break
and ghosts cry
beneath the torpid sea

in the drear sun
i had a headache
maybe it was the salt
from the surfing that day
so i sat in the shade
and watched nightingales
peck at the red
and rotting
sea grapes