Island I return , poem III
Of the sea glass I kneel to pick up
on my path along the shore
I often wonder who last touched this
piece of art before
Perhaps a bottle of wine tasted
between the reddened lips of lovers?
Of a fifth of whiskey thrown from the stern
deep sea fishing brothers?
I once picked up the remains of a life vest
I hoped was simply lost
An not the child as well by the size
too horrible a cost
The lobster traps to countless to
consider why or even what
The storms beneath the sea?
broken lines or cut
I have never found though
that which the yearning soul will seek
I'll be forever seeking though
island life isn't for the weak