From 'The Double' Ib Poem by Morgan Michaels

He saw the puzzle of islands set in a blue sea- -and the fixed face-off between Cuba and Haiti- Haiti the angler fish faced by the sleeker Cuba, the barracuda, both poised for combat which never transpired, neither inclined to advance or give ground.

'Rot', thought Langley, bent on leaving prejudice behind.

He dismissed the image and turned his attention to the window. It looked mysteriously green and mountainous, the island ahead. They were still too high up to make out individual houses or trees. And, cars? - -no way.

Pinkish clouds nestled above it, due, he guessed, to the warm breath of the land mass- its factories, its farms, the breath of its people, its warm earth-as-capacitor. He wasn't sure just how warmth fostered cloud; that it did, though, he was fairly sure. It was something else to research. He leaned his head against the headrest and wondered what they would find.