Passenger on the Water Taxi

Why would a woman live alone on an island?

Hide herself away from love and friends?

She’d have to be a recluse, self-reliant, maybe

weird? – Or have a very strong belief

in being some sort of emerging artist

choose one or all, it can’t be easy.

She asks the same of herself – if she knew

she would answer – though she can’t

imagine anything other than island life.

But I can tell you. It’s the boat in flight

away and back that holds her there:

her relaxed slump, her trance-blank stare

don’t reveal the involuntary rush of joy

flooding her limbs as her eyes drink

up the sea, in all its green blue-green moods

as if once again she’s following the call

of a memory like a migratory bird.