Grand Cayman Storm

A barge looms ghostly on the gray horizon
and, like a vision, fades into the storm
silently; heavily and patiently
into the fast approaching rain.

If it were not overcast, and the
sun stretched freely on the water,
you would see the multiplicity of color
from the white sand, the seaweed, and the coral.
You could row out where the waves
furl at the reef and feel them tease the boat.
You could close your eyes, believing, if it
were not for your thinking, you were a wave.
And you could go there in the morning
looking at the water to the east,
looking where the fresh light falls down,
thickening the water into mercury.

But it’s storming now. The lightning
jumps through the thick fog to the west
and the palm branches do not bristle in the
breeze like parchment but slap each other hard.

Who knows how long the storm will last?
I have time to watch and time to wait
and time to wonder what happens in the deep,
in the purple way out beyond what I can see.

Print