White Island

by waxnwings


The boat is proud, though it’s skin cracked in paves –
flakes of lightning yellow and alluring blue –
An island unseen unless you stand
to gaze the crescent moon of sand.

Its bow parts seas with darting licks
drooling honey-saliva reflections,
Salted droplets dried crystalline
by seas of sapphire treasures.

As the boatman teases the throttle by gut
the engine splutters guttural, groans,
His animal at leash, each move obeyed;
as one they sway over seamless waves.

On approach
she is softened, settled to pur;
then gut let loose to silence.
With sanded breast,


she rests,
Caressed at the bed of white island.