NaPoWriMo 2005 – Abaco

Nassau’s a city of trees. They lean over parks and houses,
shade parades, shed their leaves in the dry season,
flower red and yellow and purple, reach out roots
under roads, into cisterns, fingering Africa. But Abaco
is a place of water and pine, of trees stretching skyward,
scratching the clouds. Marsh Harbour’s airport floats in the marshes,
lurks beneath eddies; it tosses planes airward and watches them tumble
from Europe to home.

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