Waterlogged driftwood sinks beneath the swell.
The swimmer seeks shelter,
on the summit
of a glorified boulder.
He explores guano fed gardens,
in search of fresh water ponds.
Giant crabs lurk in the caves below.
Their pincers have the power
to launch frying pans into the ocean.
They challenged seals to bloody brawls.
There’s enough skeletons
to stave off hypothermia for a month.
The swimmer boils algae,
in the remnants of the storm.
As he licks swiftly disappearing puddles,
he dreams of serene beaches,
beneath radiant moons.
Will they be stolen by the storm?
The swimming season is nigh.
How far beyond the horizon
to the next islet?
Sailors wave and smile politely,
as they tack westward
in search of canoeists to save.
Thirty nautical years to the continent,
reads a rust ravaged sign,
peeking above the high water mark.