It's impossible to think when it's thirty-something degrees
with opaque air and sticky tees.
Each day I've listened and observed
all that this island has offered.
Reels of sights and sounds
tangled with my bounds.
I'm finding it hard to process anything.
My thoughts need archiving, organising
yet I lack the energy
sun and sea drains me.
So, it all sits inside; simmering away.
I'm left with heart halts, teary eyes, a loss of what to say.
Till the inevitable—all will ease,
I like to call it—a form of release.
—Perth, WA, 4 December 2016