Blue as the sea, Sierra Madres rim Bandaras, bay of flags.
Mist bruises the mountains not yet burned by sun.
Time for us to go, even though the colors hold like glue;
magnolias and wild flowers beckon.
One more day, you sing.
One day more I sing in chorus.
In days, the sea will be a spectre,
pirated colored glass the only reminder of paradise,
fossil, flesh, and sand.