4. Amen of Desire

SOURCE

Poems come from wanting, not from waiting,
From bending seas
Into bursting afternoons of trees
And blaring fronds, not just from the fade

Of ancient sun, nor the packaged wail
Of conch shell night, but from the widened eye
Of flaring waves and bouncing light,
Diamonds of the glaring sky

Flailing through the palms; not just from shadows
On the terrace stuck against the swirls
Of sight, where drunken soldiers pose
Their backlit brides against the molten bay,

Nor those dimming silhouettes of girls,
But from the blasting colors of their blinded day.