When my tears fall and the droplets resemble the islands
a western wind from eight thousand miles away visits to dry my eyes.

When my feet tire from an incline of a long street
I can hear my mountains tease the slightest discomfort
Don’t you remember us, girl?

These brown beach waters, hardly compare to their blue heaven
where you can barely discern the line between the crystalline sea and the sky.

I run my hands through the sand
and feel the rumble of the land from half a world away.
Come home to us.