It's me again Miss Vee-yuh-nay
back like a tide under guide of moon
to wash upon the sea shell shore
of your private island's blue lagoon
like a bottle with a note inside
dolphin-nudged through breach in reef
to bob along until at last
a trade wind pushes it to beach
in curl of wave that dies upon
the sandy stretch of driftwood just
to deliver the news the ship that cruised
by that night is immune to rust.
