Island Spirits Poem by Jacob Bearer

The white moon sends a thousands winks
across the wind chopped sea
while slender tarpon shadows hunt
teams of minnows ‘round the hull.
The night breeze combs her fingers
through the dampened greens of groves and palms
whose upturned lighted eyes
watch the tide tip-toe up to tourists' day
and kick down squish the castles back to grit
shake flat the shore for the next.
The moored sails sway in their blue hammocks
rocking in the air that bid them rest
and the whole dark lit living mass
of mythic gods dancing circles ‘round the virgin land
all sigh a deep breath.
And if I rise tomorrow
or if my spirit
fills the unfurled sails at day,
we shall bathe ourselves in sifted rays
and live beyond the footprints washed away.