an isle for reverie,
where bowing palms
and gentle ferns,
edge the water
in rock-like urns
before it reaches the sea:
an isle for you and me -
where evening skies
through star-swept clouds
sift a pale moon's mystic light,
where the rhythm of the sea's
turquoise mysteries
brandish frost-fired jewels at night,
dappling dark waters bright.
PHILLIP WILCHER
