|Taken from severeene at devianArt|
Dear Derek Walcott, Patron Saint of Shipwrecked Poets:
I am not Crusoe, though I might want to be.
I am a man. That much at least is not
desire. I am building a fire, a funeral pyre
for the attavus. For the ritual. I am
burning to ash in my desperate signaling.
In the distance. A fire burning and a man.
(Taken from the book, SANCTIFICUM)