It's not a place
We can stay, this island.
This is just a beginning,

And is not much more
Than a lick of sand
In the ocean where
We have washed up,
Salt-straggled and laughing
Because the ground is so fine
And pleasantly moveable
Between our toes.

We are floating on
A whisper of a shoreline
Between two sheets
Of reciprocating blue.

Soon we must swim
To a nearby rocky
Formation, from which
The horizon looks
Hardened, like wax.

On this soil we will
Learn to build a home.

Our feet will toughen
And flake on stone,
We will name the plants,
Name animals that we find.

We must learn to make fire,
Find fresh water,
Building materials.

David N Rose