Morning begins by stripping
coconut leaves and weaving
small baskets, canang, offerings
to the gods that watch. Under shade
of a rusted corrugated tin
roof, dogs slump beside caged chickens
that passer-byes spit upon to bless.
Women with smoking branches
emerge from huts in moss-green
and gold, orange and silver
sarongs, robes and scarves.
Old men with sun-leathered skin,
cigarettes dangling, hollow out
logs to fashion hulls of boats.
Clouds like distended mountains
out across the bay in the morning.
Boats gather about schools of tuna,
and the horizon is not blurred
but a distinct seam of sea and sky.