Cool Breeze

Alone at home, the family's gone to the high hills;
Hills of pineapples flanked by crowns of green;
Where the lake adopted a volcano, itself a child;
Where the horses neigh bucks for back-rides and
cow meat and marrow fetch for less than the lowlands.
There the coffee is pungently fresh as if a spigot
plunged poured brew straight from tree to tongue;
Where fruit stands lined up on street shoulders pander
the rainbow and all sorts of sweet things;
Where the cool breeze everywhere is salve to city skin.

Alone at home, solitude is my high hill and reflection
the blowing breeze.