The islands from eight miles high
By Jack Brummet
Beneath a chiseled frieze of cerulean blue
Islands recede into the water
To settle on the sea floor
Like an archipelago of Atlantises.
Islands come and go,
Bobbing up and bobbing down
Like lost corks
Drifting the seven seas,
Treading continents,
And the islands and straits.
They crest the waves
Beneath gathering clouds
As flocks of birds
Circumnavigate the globe,
Shuttling from landfall to landfall.
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