#jessrock

it’s the fronds click clacking as they sway,

interlocking their long green tendrils,

then freeing themselves, a wind dance,

only to interlace their fingers once again.

on and on it goes.

it’s the tiny white ripples rolling to oblivion,

small wavering lines bisecting emerald seas,

completing their journey at our feet,

a fitting farewell, absorbed by sandy shores.

midday siesta...

a glorious indulgence

delicate pink flowers fall like rain,

a few catching in my light locks,

an impromptu crown for a spring queen.

overnight, green erupted all over…

cracks coming alive under fleet feet,

overhead, buds sprout on brown branches.

all that died in the harsh winter,

now resurrected under april rays,

cool water drips from lush heliconia, shiny green leaves perking up.

one yellow specimen floats lazily, reflections quivering in blue water.

how I wish I could immerse myself in the blue and green water of the sea, salt in my nose and sun on my face, feeling the sands of time slowly slip away.

the colorful blooms came in shifts, like slow rolling warm waves, each arriving just when it needed to.

I look not at my face in photos now, but my left knee, supple and strong, glaring and obvious in its hey day.

emerge into the cool air, walk a way you haven’t gone before, clear the fog from the east today.

warm sprinkles of rain greet your light feet, a welcome guest as you stroll calle 65, mentally forming new signposts.

this city was once so foreign, a tangle of streets and speed bumps, one direction blurring into another.

slowly, our limbs have made pathways, remembering landmarks and banal signs, guiding us home under Liz Taylor’s eyes.