As kites fly below tinted clouds,
we drive, aimless, in the sur-
real glow of an urban sunset,
wincing at garish taillights
streaking a shoreline haze.
A disc jockey huskily flings
some beach city cool soft
rock and jazz of moody music.
Young folks air their tattooed
midriffs; a slow plane drags
its belly above and toyland
colors fleck a lit promenade.
In this dreamscape we mourn
the abasement of our words,
unpacked in sighs, not tears,
and not a dewdrop of solace.
It’s a long way from our monsoon
village of mango and marsh grass.
My ribcage feels the undertow
of a woven, alien sorrow.
And I wish that this tangled show
of city, evening, and the earth
would somehow vanish like
a rainbow offering to distant gods.
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