Sipping arabica,
sweetened with local cane,
she turns toward the searing sun.
Thoughts,
drifting momentarily
upon an icy shiver of the breeze,
clash like the crests of breaking waves:
this paradise and that other place,
where he still lingers,
where he no doubt curses her
and storms about.
There are no storms about here.
She watches the tide ebb,
knowing it will never never never turn again.
