Waves and Lines

Salty air wraps around
my nose like the algae
covering my toes.
The shore
is never clear en La Habana.
There’s always humidity, even in the middle
of December, and the frizzy air
never leaves my hair
calm for long.
Orange and red hues
swirl with the blue sky
declaring its last goodbye. Next year
at this time,
 
I will no longer feel
the saltwater breeze; I will not
be surrounded
by the rainy nights and lively days of the Club Havana,
the underwater scenes of the Caribbean Ocean.
If I am a home
why do I never stay anywhere?
I am from everywhere
and nowhere
at all,
floating further, fading away.
Every memory
begins and ends
by the sea, ongoing and infinite.
Jacob is not “forever”, porque ya se secó El Malecón,
and the waves
washed the algae away.

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