It's not the sun that wakes you up here,
it's the heat.
It starts to itch and cling to you.
The mosquitos hum.
The sunlight flares through the glass skylight,
and the backs of your eyelids shift
from black to sun-soaked red.
Sleep is impossible once our blazing star,
that greatest friend and foe of life here on Earth,
has taken its seat at the high table;
hanging overhead like the watchful eye of God,
surveying the scene from above.
The air smells fresh, and clean, and bright
as it rolls off the waves.
"You lived through the wave.
You know we're all going to die, big or small,
and them too.
All of us, sooner or later, get our bell rung.
This one here...his number's up."
They flung the crab shells out the window,
and watched the birds fight and tear them to bits,
carrying off their mangled prizes to feast among the rocks.
The sun dropped slowly
towards the Western Front,
Manu left for home,
and Keela slept hard that night,
and dreamed of the tiny crabs
crushed in the roiling chaos
of the big, blue wave that fell
down, down, down
and crashed onto the rocks.
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