I’m waiting for the day to come
The winds continued through the night
I want the cleansing soft rain and wild sun to
Soften sirens crowing tired travelers into light
From the aged hotels
Weighted down in feminine wonder
They groan, light a cigarette and look off
To the sea.
Overlooking the graffiti covered park benches
Placed like museum exhibits, like mahogany patched feral chickens pecking into the deep
Cement cracks.
The old poets are long gone from this paradise. They became the homeless - surviving and mumbling in the hidden coves
Of the banyan tree
She grows roots and chokes them to sleep.