Outside of Antigua

Burn the breeze. And the flies' hunt
and the cross-valley Christ-day celebration -- play the tune
of tuba lament, and try to forget that the day knows rain.

When the shade drops the avocadoes and they roll to town,
we will follow, ahead of the flood, race for the chance
to split fruit, to suck seeds, to scrape cáscara, smooth our bodies
with god's grease and pungent delight.