Castaway
After Derek Walcott’s Poem
We have this in common
Sandy spit
Empty hours to walk alone
Needing to find use
For the forgotten
In the eyes of other people
Washed up
Softens all tones
To sandblasted blue glass
Eyes, drawn out toward sky
The driftwood branch has stars
Or rafts toward uncertain lands
Toward a fire pit nest
where paper cups makes castles
and feathers, a reedy sail
for those whose wings
have fluttered far and long
and settled down
on a temporary, final beach.
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