The Air Plant

Grand Cayman This tuft that thrives on saline nothingness, Inverted octopus with heavenward arms Thrust parching from a palm-bole hard by the cove⎯ A bird almost⎯of almost bird alarms, Is pulmonary to the wind that jars Its tentacles, horrific in their lurch. The lizard’s throat, held bloated for a fly, Balloons but warily from this throbbing perch. The needles and hack-saws of cactus bleed A milk of earth when stricken off the stalk; But this,⎯defenseless, thornless, sheds no blood, Almost no shadow⎯but the air’s thin talk. Angelic Dynamo! Ventriloquist of the Blue! While beachward creeps the shark-swept Spanish Main By what conjunctions do the winds appoint Its apotheosis, at last⎯the hurricane!