Poets Corner: Island Spirit


Island Spirit

Here we are nothing, twisted scrub oak,

deformed trees, outcrops of rock ground to glass

by the stone-growl of the sea. Nothing

but voices of water and air.

And here in nothing I love you. Here,

in nothing I take you. Here in the danger

of too much barren ground I reach for you

remembering who is buried, who remains.

In the solitude of my body stars graze

like cattle foraging in the absence of grain.

Lee H. McCormack

A resident of the dank and moldy primal forests of West Tisbury for 32 years, Lee H. McCormack recently received the title of Martha’s Vineyard’s first Poet Laureate.