Ferry

The harbor is nearing.

The summer evening is bestowed

By glistening stars and

Scented winds of tamarinds.

I close my eyes,

The ferry chops through

The purple ocean, in it’s

Final surge against the

Tide before we reach port.

My eyes reopen,

The Isle’s inhabitants have

Turned on their lights,

They are hazy and blurred

And vigorously burn.

Behind the coastal town,

The hills loom tall and

Broody, like a dark

Marble monument that

Will never be removed.

Beyond them,

My city waits, it is

A rampant boar charging.