Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Zorba's Last Wave

The moon is full but hidden
behind a mass of rain clouds
            a gift from a storm system that
            was born in the north Pacific
                        & traveled across many miles of
                        open water
just to pelt the sliding glass door
as hindu windchimes
carefully ennunciate every syllable
                        the salt spray the stuttering neon
            & the slow fade
bending harmonicas in the dark concert hall
of the heart
            to be buried beneath the waves
                        3 miles from the Venice pier
Guitars slashed by wind & rain the mariachi version
            heavy slow rustling of palm leaves
the bead curtains & smoke rings stashed in the trunk
                        of a stolen El Dorado
as if you were born the day I died
I leave you the bad habits of my father
            along with several that were all my own
wearing dark glasses at the dinner table
                        but it was only to hide the tears I
couldn’t explain even if I wanted to