Coming Home

Tho it hasn't really been 'home' in 20 years. But last night when I flew in, that tropical wind blew my heart wide open. It's never long enough, the way I buzz in and out, reveling in the silk scarf air, wrapping it around myself. Then the rain explodes not in a torrent but gently like confetti. Welcome home, it says, stay, stay. Here's a place for you. Put your feet in the sand, turn your face up, inhale the sky, the sun, the whole atmosphere until the hungry edge of outer space devours you as you devour it, and you are completely gone. Complete.

Summer Evening

Officially summer ended

a few days ago, but

here we are in the warm night,

wearing shorts, tank tops,

sandals, dresses.

A breeze swims around us

whispering of the end

of ninety degree days,

soon, it says, very soon.

And we nod absently,

listening as Don plays

"Autumn Leaves" on his shiny horn.

The music melts like butter

in my body. Then: Salsa!

I dance alone, but not alone,

my family of friends seated here,

standing there, pretty wives,

a precocious child, smiles

on their summer faces, laughter

between the notes.

Life is grand by God. Oh amazing

and grace and all good things.

The languid, liquid night is in no hurry.

For Don's last set I sit

on concrete steps, my boon companion,

most excellent friend, beside me,

snapping fingers. And Don

is wailing now about how

the livin' is easy.

A flute answers his sax,

says yes and the cotton is high,

even tho we all know our gleaming city

is already gazing toward red October

and this is only a last lingering moment.

But for this moment

the babies are not crying.

One of them looks upon us

from the comfort of his carriage

like a wise Bodhisattva.

Amazing and grace and all good things.

Let us not say farewell to summer,

not tonight for we are rich in love

and good looking, too.

Amazing and grace and all good things.