Castaway

After Derek Walcott’s Poem We have this in common Sandy spit Empty hours to walk alone Needing to find use For the forgotten In the eyes of other people Washed up Softens all tones To sandblasted blue glass Eyes, drawn out toward sky The driftwood branch has stars Or rafts toward uncertain lands Toward a fire pit nest where paper cups makes castles and feathers, a reedy sail for those whose wings have fluttered far and long and settled down on a temporary, final beach.