as they told me. Purple-cream sky
of cloud, sea on fire, molten brass
pours from the furnace of sun. Shadow
figures, brush stroke thin, sail
the glowing surface black as ash
beneath knobs of island rock. Here I need
help to read my water bill.
Illiterate, I can't make out the words
for "fish" or "ice" or "flame." Along
the coast a black skiff taps against
volcanic outcrop, returns. Its cargo
blazes, bobbing in the darkening glow.
Last update: 15 July 1998