03.14.09 / 2:09 pm

on the island, there are no seasons;
everyone drinks vodka tonics on the beach
and sunbathes in the nude.
here, there is no need for reason,
only dutiful contemplation,
the celebration of the distance between days
and of infinitesimal patches of sun between periods of rain.

on the island, there is no comparison,
no knowledge of this word as law;
one only exists to walk and talk and breathe
and love all others infinitely.

on the island, there is music, singing and dance,
the eager movement of bodies in patterns and plans.