Is the beauty here just on the boundaries?Where the ocean gives up, confronted by the weight of infinite grainsAn hourglass explodedOn the inside, commerce, and the crumbling caribbean concrete of strife and stressRoadside shacks and the capitalist backwater of black market necessityHere, dark rum and bright beaches and the old woman’s trash burning in a Parish beyond the rolling leafy hillsClues to the tin drum truth, past the Rasta phoniness of five-star reviews and urgent tourist relaxation.The beauty is all around, or wherever you look for it.
