From Now On
Five in the morning The birds nesting in our orchid trees, placed east, Begin to sing, welcoming a new day. And it is as if the sun waits For their singing before she rises In full glory Bursting through our jalousies Waking our sleeping bodies The blue of our curtains turn translucent white Even the darkest dyes on linen and cotton Could not contain the light. Five at dusk, The birds return home Perching on the wires Hanging tangled above our gate facing west. Twisted from the havoc of Yolanda, That nobody from the telephone and cable company Has dared to repair. Beyond the convoluted reminder Of the devastation of November eighth, Is a vision of sunset, skies transforming into night, Baring her robe of colors --brilliant blue, russet, Saffron, magenta, purple, neon. Beautiful. Overwhelming. It seemed the sunsets have avenged the sorrow The skies wreaked on That Day. And as if such beauty is not enough, The birds sing their aria as they do in