The chief leaf man rises early.
A breeze in the banyan tree.
The water laps.
Skink lizard on the prowl.
Perfection. Blue. Perfection.
No leaves on the water.
Miles Davis –his ghost –
becoming the banyan tree.
Chief leaf man sees a leaf
in the corner of the pool
and shouts in Vietnamese.
Leaf man number two crouches,
picks it out.
The apprentice leaf boy,
conical hat,
takes a broom from the storeroom.
Sweeps.
The hotel dog –a Saigon mongrel – watches.
Eternal – mythological – war of leaves.
The frangipani quickens.
I watch its petals drop upon the water.
A stiffening breeze from Saigon River.
The palm trees writhe and thrash.
