This Particular Sea

There are so many lights
in the windows, the stars,
so many openings and silence
reveals the movement of night
creatures in the dust
through the leaves
what are they and where?
There are so many secrets
in these places of mine
so many left over pieces
to talk about
and I do.
The dog doesn't really care
but he stays until I am done.
He stays a bit longer
to examine something
in the night, some noise.
A rustle in the bushes -
a traitor it seems
is on the loose again.
This particular sea
is mighty, it is deep.
There is so much drowning there,
so many broken bones.

...somehow related to ....

The Divers, the Drowned, the Delivered

We landed on the beach in Bahia Kino
with our best memories and war stories,
monitoring time by watching shadows.

Simplicity is complex nowdays, so many gadgets.

There was a fire ring for instance,
and burning lanterns but no candles.
And diving birds,
there were three kinds and their bones.

An old friend caught trigger and hoped for flounder.

After he had too much to drink
he resembled a demon but his hands trembled.
Near the fire at night his eyes glistened.

Don's wife likes Miami, she drinks there.

In the morning there was contrition
and there were flies to spread contagion
by thieving sugar and contempt, a diligent crew.

How many times have I seen this before?

Insects and yeasts take people apart
one piece at a time. We collect wood
to burn, it holds us together as it consumes.

Tayammum, sand ablutions are called Tayammum.

At dawn the sea leaves her glass behind,
ceramic prisons free for the taking.
I couldn't get enough, the sea is so generous.

I was questioned thoroughly,
my fingerprints in sand are still there.

Don left so early Sunday, he left cans
and rope, he left precious amounts
of bile in shade trees, he left our rake unattended.

We come from a family of campers,
we are honor bound.

Ours tell quiet stories of blindness all the time,
we frequent several places, the animals know
when we are there. Lizards aren't so cautious.

Aztec traders brought handmade
trinkets on the last day.

Grandfather, father and two boys. Bedou salesmen
from the pagan interior. His son told me this,
he knew why I asked.
He had assimilated over time
with a small TV. His eyes said so.

There are rituals and there are habits. These are facts.

Yes I said, yes, there is only one.
He nodded when I spoke of the Arabs.
Vaya con Dios I said. He liked that. He smiled.