There’s nothing here to climb, just sand swept shores that seem to

go on forever. I have grown accustomed to flat lands covered in mangrove,

disappearing islands and painted seas.

Outside my window, palms lit with emerald parrots seem expected.

This is what life has granted me, exploring sea caves in dreams, secret passageways to an

underworld that come dawn I can never remember.

The hand of wind is in everything, tilted green leaves chase, rise, playfully tease the

summer wind only to catch among the bushy roots of hibiscus and jacaranda.

I’ve grown accustomed to living without mountains, watching storms form above the sea.