I sedate
In the coconut breeze,
Ponder the hum
Of runaway ocean.
Men test the shallows
With spears—they
Stab at shadows
Then poke and prod holes
Beneath the surface.
The men are
Stick figures, bending.
The sea is a canvas of tortures.
The beach is missing its
People. Mansions at Black Point
Pretend to be human.
They crowd the soft bay,
This skinny shore.
Waves slap the sand,
Repeating yesterday
And the day before.
The water fills
With pleasure boats.
A sharp white sail
Severs water from sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem