Like dots before your eyes, the ships 
Roll in on the new tide and drop anchor. 
“They will go away,” you think. But later 
When you turn again, they’re still there. 
Still blocking the rest of your island paradise 
From view. You see the men in uniform 
Stepping down into the longboats, then 
The endless ripple of water as you lie back 
And close your eyes: “It has all happened 
So many times before—the ships, the men. 
And always when they seemed to beckon 
And I went to them, the bay was empty. 
But now I am aware of their ways: 
This time they will come to me.” Overhead, 
The wind scrapes through palms that droop 
Almost to where you can touch them. You hear 
Nothing but stones tumbling in the sea.