Twilight falls through the coconut palm.
The water sprinkler sends beads of vapour
Up into the Mango tree
And shapes a spectrum,
Suspended in the air.
We climb on to the forty-four gallon drums,
The bones in our feet preparing for battle,
To roll and beat on metal like wings on air.
Our feet perform a balancing act
Iron-stained and sun-baked on rusty forty-four gallon drums.
I can hear the Indian Ocean.