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