By Michael Warren
Purple on powder blue, it’s hard to tell
where jacaranda ends and sky begins:
across the morning haze, a single bell
summons the faithful to confess their sins.
It’s hard to tell where living seems to end
and death begins. The tendrils ache
towards the blue, and move and blend
in silence with the wind – for living’s sake
they die, and flake by secret flake
carpet the earth which once they canopied.
The azure tent above shakes in the breeze:
behind and beyond the village bell
I almost hear a sound – it’s hard to tell –
a memory of distant deep blue harmonies.
For more information about Lake Chapala visit: www.chapala.com