Parachuting
down through clouds
shaped like whales & sharks,
dolphins & penguins,
pelicans & gulls,
we reach
the purple hills
of a green-hearted island
ringed
with volcanic rock
bathed
by cobalt waters
reefed
by whitest coral
tenanted
by sea urchins & sponge
& visited
by barracuda
& tourists.

The dictator
of this island
is the sun.
The Secret Police
is the sweet
fragrance of cane.
Frangipani grows
in the uplands;
the salt flats
reek
by the sea.

I want to buy it,
to hide here,
to stay,
to teach all the people
to write,
to orchestrate the stars
in the palm trees
& teach the jellyfish
not to bite.

Oh dark volcanic
wine!
Oh collapsed parachute
filled with kisses!
Oh blue-bottle bits
ground
into jewels
by the sand!

Whoever loves islands
must love the sea,
& the sea
loves no one
but herself.