Hunched posture
it kills time...
(sigh)

Earlier in youth, 
it once reached with palm leaves open,
groping for light.

Now it's leaves are arthritic fingers;
decrepit, knarled knotted, 
like a crown of thorns.

One palm tree,
   ...dying.

A warm ocean growls like a calm beast
waiting under darkness
where wave after wave
of birth 
and crucifixion
comes and goes 
like breath.

You can hear chaos mounting 
at the shore
like an angry mob
where sea and earth unite.

Like the sound in a seashell,
where Mother/Father voice
beckons between moments... 

I listen and follow it home,

   ...to where a wicked, mangled tree 
in a contortionist's dream 
untwists itself miraclessly.