Rusted metal bites into wood of fifty footers clamping where they stand

When palm trees fall their age remains unknown, there are no rings to count

Sparse lines on blackened shores guarding islands from salt winds and battered raft arrivals

We stop and lean on solid trunks tap wedding bands on reddened steel and say 'Ah Las Palmas'

Waves pound and winds sweep Saharan sand over, away, Until spikes reach out and trap the grains

Fishermen return from rising seas to groaning buildings And find their trees have shed their leaf

And then I learned the rings stop tiny claws from gripping on to nest up high

Those rats were brought to this jagged rock They took the freedom of our palms, Which fastened chains around themselves