Đirona’s Crown

I spent hours watching the fresh-watered waves
collide against the earth; thunder brewing at the tip top of
the pines, glorious skies that unfurl out and deep into the west;
the wind carrying sweet-water spray onto the land where I stand
in the shadows of the trees, waiting for the first celestial bodies
to rise behind me from the east. Đirona, most beloved star,
crown of the heavens, watching the gulls dancing over the last rays
of sun cresting the waves, a drum, a soft pitter-patter of pine needles
brushing against each other; we contain in all of us these rocky
shores, these watery edges; as the water becomes wine-dark like the
black roses my grandmother grew along the stone steps up to her house,
I reach the dark silhouette of my hand to the sky, and behind it
all the light of the stars gleam as they shower down, meeting
their mirror images reflected by the troubled horizon.

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