Distant Island

By Peter Halstead

Distant island, home of birds,
Washed in lather, in the curls

Of hidden mounts, purpled
With the sails of windsurfers,

With the white cones of
Boats Tahiti bound, bathed in light

By sky too blue and clouds
Too bright for anything but

This glistening Pacific daze,
Floating on the scudding waves

And limpid green of sandy days
And endless nights,

Framed by sudden rises
On the coral reef,

Your flare of ocean,
Lash of sun beyond the reach

Of sleeping bathers on
Our deserted beach,

Your immobile stone,
Unmoved by wind,

The last few days of summer gone,
While the constant whirl

Of trade winds sweep up dawn
In storms, in spray,

And fold it into
Steady breeze,

Safe from dreams,
From rivers in the sea,

From the demons that the summer hides,
From the memento mori

Of our adolescent tides.

July 14th, Bastille Day, 2022

August 7th, 2022
Tippet Alley