A dormitory of iguanas lies sleeping in the sun
on a rocky hillside next to our room.
Flying low over the water, a dozen pelicans
float like a slowly undulating ribbon. Below them,
waves arrive in irregular procession from other
edges of the world, carrying with them gravitational
energies of the moon and all the stars.
In the pink light of dawn when the birds
awaken, they coax us out of sleep with exotic
hoots and twitters never heard in Massachusetts.
Every afternoon, a storm from the south comes to visit,
and brings us curtains of warm rain to clarify our
thoughts. Early in the day, before the storm, we lie
around reading books, imagining ourselves
to be like pelicans, waves, or rain,
but mostly we resemble the iguanas.
© 2005 J.M. Keating
Puerto Vallarta, Mexico