To be enisled – a dream of youth
astir with Stevenson or Dan Defoe –
in age an omnipresent wish
for sea-girt isolation;
that strange unrest, deep-rooted – an
affinity – for who, in spite
of contrary belief and dicta,
is not from birth to death an island,
an individual fragment, monad –
appallingly alone?

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.