Uninhabited (Poetry)

Every morning it rises fresh —
like it has just — with sunrise — bubbled up
from the ocean’s fizzing depths —
surfaced as pale grey-green mists unwrap
to show their jewel to a sighing world
where rocks gleam glossy-jet.

A breeze unfurls
soft-clinging clouds
allowing sun to climb
find handholds on steep rugged slopes
dry the night-abandoned beach
and warm the island to a state
of unspoilt drowsy bliss
floating — adrift in all that rocking blue.

From time to time boats circle
look for spots to land — but
prevailing currents drag them past — or
a lone plane drones low overhead — gazes down
to map and measure
eyes capture what they can
of paradise untrodden — undefiled.

Unclaimed but for the birds
who guard their breeding grounds —
mark out the site —
wheel and call above the shushing surf
and no one’s witness to
a turtle’s agonising progress
as it heaves itself ashore
lured by instinct’s need for solitude.

The dreamer comes here — voyages in his sleep
searching for the rarest thing on earth —
tranquillity — that sense of timelessness —
no clocks to count nor ration out
what passes naturally — all change
is gradual — soothed by sun and moon’s
control of rhythmic tides.