Scenes from a Far Country
by Michael Phillips

In the courtyard, among the tired waiters,
Women whirl on pink stones
Laid by their great-grandfathers.

Shirtless men with machetes dislodge coconuts,
Which thump in the grass
As if the earth here were hollow.

Geckos patrol the patio, oblivious
To the stray calico we’ve been feeding.
Even the cats here look different.

My new wife, dressed in blue,
Dips her toes in the lee-side surf.
Beyond, needle fish linger in the dock light.

At night, unable to locate wayward constellations,
I turn to the moon for ballast,
Envying how at home it looks in the sky.

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