I am free
On an island far far away from here, where
sailboats toss and roll in the
surf, and seagulls soar like a soprano’s song
Lines destined for a diary
or at least a schooner’s topsail
becomes the indicator of land where
inlets become infinite, coves abundant
A land where I am free, where I
An atlas, a map
Bounded by walls of ocean
Binds me, to be free.
Free from whatever is binding me because this land is new and pretty and it revolves around me and maybe that is selfish or individualistic or a product of our economy that doesn’t care about reality.
Maybe, deep down we know we’ll never find land like this.
Or we know we’d ruin it, all the beauty that exists there without us already.
No, I will not continuously be more of a colonizer, a gentrifier, an eco-destroyer
So instead, I imagine islands but strictly in my dreams
Only on pieces of paper or when the moonlight shows its phases
Only with a pen in my hand or when the cicadas come out to sing
Only then am I