The following poem is my final selection from Noel Crook's gorgeous collection, Salt Moon (SIU Press, 2015).
On this island, love, there is nothing but black
and white—the sea’s flat back that keeps us,
bleak shards of coral honed sharp as knives
by tireless wavelets. And the salt—vast,
blinding pans for us to rake. It galls
our wrists and shins like manacles.
Read the rest of the poem here.