Isla Magdalena

Isla Magdalena, your thin

finger cradles my heart.

The cayote roams

aloof, guards your bare

curves, carved

by wind, tracing

your bosom, shaping

the dunes into the moon's

pre- pubescent, crescent lips

kissed by the late night

and early morning dew.

The leviathans navigate

your deep, twisted veins

surfing the wind stream

from the crest, of breaking

blown waves, your sea

gulls pierce the forehead

of the flat horizon. Dancing -

the tango, the salsa, the ball

 room - the sun

                                   and moon

unroll the white silk

ruffles of the ocean

along your ankles.