The Oracle gave me a double puente, which the French would call a viaduct.
Heat crushes me,
hot winds lick my skin with coarse tongue,
ripping splinters from a rainless sky,
as thirsty mouths
waiting for a summer storm
there was a time when clouds drifted,
cool and wet from the salt ocean,
heavy with the moist perfume of sea stars
and the liquid darkness of the night sky.
Now heat melts,
so catch your ship and sail away but
~remember this picture~
breathe in colour
as the animals do,
dark and gentle,
let it grow this earth, this life,
as the vine climbs
to the moon.