Wild Heart
Photo courtesy of Sri Lanka Travel Pages
The pull of
the wild heart,
opening flower
in morning light,
this sweet
cloying return,
pineapple,
mango,
rambutan,
and sea winds
blowing briskly
as far from
the sea as
Viharamahadevi
Park,
which I know
like Ceylon
under an older
name, Victoria,
to whom I bear
no allegiance
but accept,
past and present
continuously woven,
this city
where street signs
are named
in three tongues
by law
but sometimes
one gets dropped
in practice
without a care
until we notice
the house burning
the shop scorched.
