a jiggling pregnancy from too many enchiladas,
pendulates as his foot stiffly arrests the ball.
Plodding the sands,
the mestizo beneath a column of sombreros,
swarming in a frenzy of basketry,
somnambulates a dream that the diners above will buy.
Fish mongers offer americanos in the open pulmonias their octupi.
No-one to sting,
a dejected jelly fish slimes its life back into the sand,
while waders, shorter than the lumbering swells,
dare the rest to find them.
An overcast of frigate birds meanders like riff raff on the updrafts.
While the tireless surf sparkles a symphony to the gathering nightfall,
mists of the soft, warm rain to come
pause at the distant wet line
where the sea falls off the edge of the earth.
Steamy air clouds the camera's newly-uncapped eye.
The lean, dark youth at the precipice
makes the cross,
considers the surging froth,
hears the jagged call of the rocks,
and, arms outstretched, plummets,
a human pelican that flirts with the passing granite,
diving for el dolero turistico.
A smirking ballet of weightless pelicans
skates on reflections that shimmer over small seas of glass –
graceful, scrawny, smoothing the breakers,
beatifying flight as they loft, then swoop to weave the crests.
The weary, sweating sun seeks rest.
Pelicans endlessly follow.
— Mazatlan, 3 de julio 2005
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