July: The Island

The wreckage washes up behind his feet
That dangle helplessly into the sea.
The sun pounds his pupils—bugs dance and whirl:
In front of him he finds a foreign world.

Red sand expands before the castaway.

The tree front drops his jaw. In awe, he cries.
The treetops barrel through the cloudless sky.
Between the trees he sees things too absurd:
A sprinting tortoise, an upside down bird.

This island’s mysteries don’t scare the man.

The lonely castaway hears a far-off laugh 
(And not a laughing lizard he found a few miles back):
Venus in the flesh, a beauty from this isle.
Their eyes meet—his brown, hers green—followed by a muted smile.

He touches her. She touches back. He never lets her go.

For fifty years they sit beside the sea, 
Only to see the forest and the beach.
This first sunset ensures they’ll be alright
Slipping into an equally long night.

The sun finally falls below the horizon,
casting a shadow across the sand that swallows them. 

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