Dinosaurs and vultures, the delicate
Tonight the sky
is a latin
Topper, a strong swimmer, dives
into the king-tide,
of a wild
liquid throat of a meteor's song,
of lightning's ship and wailing reeds.
At journey’s end the city still
a cup to be emptied of son montuno,
of mojito stories of newborn hope,
split from the fingerprint planets.
On this final Malecón night
we are new world
explorers, navigating by the tapa star-map
silver fish arcs
and spars of flying coral.
The tide awash with scented debris,
we float silently on our backs,
a pair of Malibu whales, spitting salt,
drinking in the revolutionary wind.