Island from the Air

This is my archipelago: my home and my paradise. This is my wish, prayer, desire and blessing that it can ever be haven to me. These are my islands.

The island hangs suspended

Between the breasts of the ocean.

The ribbed mists mingle with the sea,

Falling away from the island

In the aweful folds

And harmonic symmetry

Of a blessing-white wedding gown.

The warm island glows,

A contoured gem of the cerulean seas

And queen of the white horses

As they gallop along the crests of the billowing waves.

A mighty tornado of screeching gulls wheels,

Feathers scintillating in the rushing air.

A thousand warm white bodies ride

On a powdery perfume of mowed grass and pink granite.

Rocky fortresses tower tiny and tender,

Awash with white sweetnesses and surf-sudded tufts.

The glistening gold of the sunstar

Complements viridescence and cerulescence

Akin, as triplets’ smiles.

Silvered dews sparkle in lucent leas,

Roads wind through vales and across runnels,

And down to the fair estuaries where marinas seem still

With bygone visions imprinted in the dust

Far below

And here, in the land of the aester,

Where drifting dreams can be caught and adored

And mystic rhapsodies glide without curiosity or restraint.

The End

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