St. John

The things I remember
are a reef,

beautiful and jagged,
just below

the surface. What
she didn’t wear

at Solomon Bay,
two palms at play.

The spanning shadow
of an eagle ray.

An oceanfull
of Don Q,

clear, then unclear,
then blue.

I won’t let you
stand for loss,

my second love,
my first home,

when they ferry me
back across.

–October 6, 2017