You Think I’m Dreaming
I felt the sea on my pulse,
the salt in my brunette,
pebbles underfoot,
the net dragging me.
I felt the familiar ebb and flow,
close to shore,
tippy-toes.
The coconut permeates the dawn,
its scent infiltrating,
its oils reverberating.
I feel the palms bending low,
so low I can touch
their feather fronds;
and fronts clashing.
First drops of the storm,
so tender-pitter-patter,
light thunder,
soft lightning.
Nearby volcano erupting,
you think I’m dreaming
about your lava eyes.
Beach blanket soaked,
settling into muddy sand,
its tartan, tanned
and connecting
with the waves,
overlapping.
The island’s going under -
the thunder, ecstatic;
its lightning erratic.
Surrounded by water,
a dugout
with flapping wings -
the canoe is land.
Lily pads on steroids
float upon deceptive waters -
so pretty I can touch them;
and caiman too.
All that’s ever been
resides in sandy eyes;
I’ve collected seashells
in my mind.
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