Hymn to Manzanilla

Manzanilla, the cry of souls not so far away
has driven your winds past the point,
coconut trees caught in a half bow
still not sure if this is the
‘new king coming dirty from a sour vessel’
so they stay

Manzanilla there are lace kerchiefs
stuffed into our necklines
greying as we finger our way
to your church
from our faint customs of salt root rosewater

Sepulchre of time, this shoreline almost forgets
our dreams of pure Mary windswept
smiling as she breaks
into layers of uncombed cloud

We can only stare out into your winds
sweeping time before us
stealing our thoughts
for when they cease Manzie
we will have become yours
in rock in shale for ever

Mirrors all to your beat, we will
hide our front teeth and smile too,
never tired, always touched
with your blessing