The scents
the smokes
the spices that singe to perfection
I see my reflexion
A tossing ocean of blues and greens
the glidings of an embassy
unbeknownst to the bright world
the sea.  I see my ocean
the sands approach and
island girl climbs
from shimmering lights
bright as sun reflexions
off the water.
Long tresses with thistle
and grasses
she passes the palms
Bare ankles soft pedals
Of padded feet on sand and stone
Roam
Just enough and not too much
time and quiet and space and the roar of surrounding
Survive the fruits of
strength and the climb
the herbs
the healing
scents
smokes.
the spices.




Island
companions
and treetop
roofrock
sounds
of night
healing leaves
grasses
and herbs.

Sweet drips
of fruits
that uncurl
in prying
palms.
Seeded beauties
with beads
of sunset
pearls.
Shells of milky
rainbow and
clashing
slate

and the
kick back
fire sky
night side
beats.
The beats
of
roaming clouds.
En-route to
the buttermilk
moon.
Purple
Arabia of
the Horizon.