On The Island

in skirmishes with the dark ones
their jet bodies electric, razorish
we suffered, and tried many strategies –

ambushed by lithe bodies
we returned combat on the roadsides
fled in fear, hearts pounding, to the docks
and journeyed to the far side
by a peripheral track through gnarled vines
hugging the rocky shore –

to find them there even
insurgents from a bleak sea
scrambling at us through the brush

and realised the inevitability
of a trek to the pungent centre
where, the jungle dripping on us
we entered through a hewn gate
and in the heat herded pachyderms
plump and young

which we rode through the primeval tangles
in single file, processional
back to our now less-troubled coasts

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