TOURISTS

Tourists on the beach at Waikiki
Whose every glance is heightened
By this almost silent sea,
By tomorrow’s flight copied tonight, and

By the way the tropic sun will set
The last time in their lives, the last time here,
Forever pink and tragic (and always wet),
Snap a miracle that won’t appear

For them again, but just on lonely
Roads, in slides, in dreams, in thought,
Where calm like this can only
Really live, in frozen moments caught

By luck, on film, that cannot last
In space, but grow forever in the past.