Where is there to travel
on a night of driving rain?
Part of the mind
elides the glistening pane
to become grass and leaves;
part stays behind,
rapt in childhood reverie,
when palms would buck
in wild winds off the sea,
tossing spiky manes,
clouds dumped cargo
in wavering arcs
on the mango trees,
and corrugated iron was first
a keyboard, tinny, out of tune,
then a rhythmic
humming of percussion...