Our friends go
like bark from a sycamore. They fall
off the big tree
to be swept with the season.
Too much of their absence
takes mercy out of the heart—
we collect the silence left
by a face that tossed its teeth,
a one-eyed inquisitor,
a faded rose sunk
in a soiled pillow.
We sit on viscous earth
at the edge of a familiar waterhole.
We watch how bumblebees
go heavily from one flower to the next,
We become an estuary,
grateful for new ships that whistle in.
–Published by Ibbetson Street, #30, Fall-Winter issue, 2011
–Published (first version) by Carcanet Press Inc. England
New Caribbean Poetry, Anthology, 2007