James Michael Robbins

Grace At The Isle Of Palms

There is peace to an island-simple plot

Separate, cloaked in ocean yet true to

The notion of terra firma, though not

So sure fire, familiar with the power

Of water. Here, the supple palms tower

Over sand, and (you feel) stand for something.

Strangers can come here and become less strange

Until they find themselves part of the place,

Belonging here and, finally, to each

Other — more like family, or the way

Sand belongs to the beach. Then it hits you,

How the palms, the waves, it’s all of a grace,

And you turn, like the jester pelican

That takes the air and becomes there a king.