(from The Everyday Wife)
(for O.M.S.)

Havana is a sunken galleon,
its people, treasure:
shoals of quick silver fish,
once captured souls, now liberated
by the wrecking of the imperial flotilla.

The waves of the beach sing
conquer, surrender,
conquer, surrender,
conquer, surrender…

The moon on the waves sings
surrender, conquer
surrender, conquer
surrender, conquer…

… And a black man,
10 000 miles from his homeland,
in white cotton pajamas, stands
ankle deep in ocean whispers,
with eyes of rapture
and breath of wonder;
he surrenders
to the captive beauty
of this moment,
triumphantly liberates
another poem.