I.
Freedom's pink
Gets into the waves,
The distant cliffs,
The hotels.
At sunset the natives
Throw their nets.
There are fish when it's dark enough
For no one to see.
II.
The fish play with the children
Like before
When they were their grandparents
Yet it seems new
The way they move their phosphorescence closer
And swerve away
As fingers reach, but the name the nino gives him,
Desvanese, is new.
