It could be said that islands
are not originally there by choice,
but broken away, fragments
of a previous whole, moments
that didn’t hold on,
yet the reasoning isn’t always
obvious.
A hand that didn’t grasp,
but pushed, pulled
until there was no
mutual understanding
of taking or giving in.
Later, a touch,
of a footprint in the sand,
joining it into the perfect fit,
and seeing it’s there
with a focus of its own.
In a once upon a time,
the dividing line the sun left behind
as it dipped away,
was indistinguishable from the sea
pulling down upon a feint wave.
Until the tide brought it ashore,
bottled up as a memory.
