The mood is summer, the shallows the temperature of blood. Bodies glisten at distances, me on a strip of sand watching flesh tan on alternate strips. Tourists struggle over the rocky coast they dip and jerk like marionettes in a school play. The sea smells of weeds and salt.
Coconut trees bend for the sun.
The sand moves as I move, shifts to accommodate. I feel beached, marooned in mid-life with Coppertone bottle, wet trunks and cotton towel. Breakers pound the wall at Black Point. Mansions are jaded by repeat performances. The lava glitters with rooms.