To nourish breaths and twirl away
when island counts beachcomber years
folder and pen will imprint scripts
of journey’s tales sucked from my womb
with drawings and poems handwritten,
filling the cavity of time, of rainbow stars.
For private care, need I bring toiletries?
oh , Mother Earth offers all herbal scents,
except for undies... that’s a load full;
just maybe, they’ll wrap me from the cold
or guise them as hats for summer’s fare.
Forget the playlist as necessity,
the music of waves, seagulls and leaves
is finer than orchestra or blues combined;
a serenade of night chirps will invite
the lull of twilight, the hop of morn.
In between survival and lush of days,
Rumi’s journal would embed new seedlings
opening chakras with tender wildness
for pauses while I lay on moon’s hammock,
enshrined in a banquet for body, mind and soul.
What Would You Take Contest, Shadow Hamilton