The Island

The air was fresh, and fairest rays broke through
The trees above. The droplets fell on life
And ocean met the shores with gentle breath.
Along the site were scattered homely fires,
Light flowed across the texture of your skin.

There was enough to live. The Garden could-
N’t call to us, not then. The dates and O-
Lives, honey, almonds, ficus sycomor-
Us, pomegranate seeds and virgin oil
Were very much abundant in our land.

Your enigmatic nature proved a vi-
Tal presence. Withering away, you rend,
Corrupt and warp the earth around. Disown-
Ing what you knew, the vegetation groans,
The surf against the banks does roar, respon-

Ding to an agonising vivisect-
Tion. Images will reappear in time,
To wrench a limb from nature once again.
Our bloods, they boil, now hotter than before,
But grief displaces tranquil ecstasy.

Now water does not flow. The sycamores
Bear hollowed veins and embers sting the eyes.
What’s worst is I cannot so simply go.
I watch a universe collapse, and am
Reminded that I do not have control.

I claw at sand beneath my feet, in des-
Perate search for passage out of here. What me-
Thod must I use, what thought must I regard?
In truth, there are no footprints here. In ev’-
Ry sense, I must admit, I am truly lost.


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