Coconut drops.
The sun blazes down.
To survive these conditions.

Mother is wise.
She has given a thick skin
      To shelter
Her babe for some time.

Coconut sits,
Awaiting its turn
     To sink
All hope in the soil.

Mother is wise.
She has provided the nourishment;
Perhaps to get started.

I go to the street man,
Machete in hand,
The top off, he hands it.

With lips on a straw,
I stop just in time
     To understand
The significance of what is unfolding.

Sacred Life,
Can you accept this fate?
     Your birth
Is now lost in my being.

With humility, a request:
Come share my existence.
We can reach for the skies.

2 October 2005