Walking on Water

I cried in the cybercafé
thinking of the menstrual sea
whose tide takes fruits away from me
lemons and melons bobbing like buoys towards the sharp horizon
my thirst unassuaged.

Yet then I spied a bearded man,
blue shirt and jeans walking in circles
on the esplanade, backpack near him, waiting for what?

All day he tarried there or on the sands.
In the morning no sign of him. 
The red man stops you from crossing the road;
the green man allows you to cross. 
It seems that overnight the blue man walked
by sea to the forests of Roman Africa
where elephants blare as they break branches.

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