“I Hope in Your Time Alone Here, You Can Learn to Love the Island.”

Jagged rocks and

Salt crashing

People come here for the weather

Cities of gardens and never too much snow

But the roads here are winding

And narrow

And rough around the edges

With shores that rattle

As the ocean pulls back

As the whole ocean pulls up into the sky

And sometimes the rain lasts weeks

Moss lingering

Along trees that coil

Things grow old here

Nooks and crannies

Where people hide in boats

And art is made

And food grows

Like being rough around the edges

Sheltering the strange

The misfits

The nomads

And me, too

Arms open

The way it does for only some,

“Just for a moment, come rest here.”