Tired， hungry， hot， I climbed the steep slope

    to town， a sultry， watery¹ place， crawling with insects and birds.

    In the semidarkness of the mountain，

    small things loomed² large： a donkey urinating on a palm；

    a salt-and-saliva-stained boy riding on his mother's back；

    a shy roaming black Adam. I was walking on an edge.

    The moments fused into one crystalline rock，

    like ice in a champagne³ bucket. Time was plunging⁴ forward，

    like dolphins scissoring open water or like me，

    following Jenny's flippers down to see the coral reef，

    where the color of sand， sea and sky merged⁵，

    and it was as if that was all God wanted：

    not a wife， a house or a position，

    but a self， like a needle， pushing in a vein⁶.