Coconut clusters suspended in morning’s still air,
respite now from ceaseless battering, frond fingers lightly
taking measure, drumming air as in disbelief,
not trusting permanency anymore than should I;

Meanwhile doves coo while biding time, their turn
to bathe in muddy puddles up and down
our pockmarked snip of road, not knowing
or caring that just seconds away in wing-time
lies a clean vessel of glazed indigo awaiting
cotton-light bodies of countless Mejiros,
Melodius Thrush tucking heads into warm breasts;

Presently daylight’s ushers gather
in darkening corners, theatre of the absurd,
a nation suspended, awaiting the first frame
of yet another day’s flickering flashes
on split screens, paradox of morning
and mayhem.

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