SERA SERA


At the beach bar, a chirpy ringtone
percolates rich, fluting wails
of piped Moroccan music

while beyond a peephole of palms,
the wingtip of a glinting windsurf
flitches, tantalising,
left to right, right to left.

At only five miles distance
across a cold and choppy strait,
rise mountains of an unknown continent,
a soaring charcoal graph line with
Atlantic’s graphite underscore
doing long division beneath.

Between certainty of sea and
vagaries of heat-veiled ranges,
a steamy mist diminishes,
its steady vanishing progressive,
inevitable as what lies ahead.