The waves rumbled, the surf was foam
we made it through the sea
The coast regained serenity
palm trees quiver platinum
eucalyptus leaves are golden green
impossible to tell if real or sparks
in anthracite glazed mirrors
windows in warm wood panels
The shower’s rain engulfs my skin
my old new life
which I will leave behind
Who can harvest all these oranges?
The bird on my shoulder
has peach and scarlet feathers
I cut up bananas
I whistle
I hide
in plain sight
like women from bygone eras
who sojourned in the country-side
to return with child
without a father
With a gestating waist
I wait
for blood that may not come again
for living waters
For a divorce to be valid, the woman
must be sent away
removed from his possession
receive a letter: You are allowed to any man
It does not suffice that the husband disappears
when she fails to please him
When I first wrote about pebbles, dust and earth
under naked feet
on my path through lands not sown
I was slender
I whistled
I still believed
a seed would grow
a lover would find ground water
a pomegranate flower
Now I walk through the shadows of olive trees
If I found a water-hole at last
there in the mountains
would I enter, would it irrigate my soul
like the first fig tree I ate from, in Sanary-sur-Mer
in 1993?
The sky is beautiful tonight, blue and orange
a pool of sunken blessings
in the rosemary-scented breeze
cockatoos raise papaya-colored crests