We thought we were alone

and that being alone could

keep us safe from the rest of the world.

​

There is nowhere to run on an island

but up and down, up and down

until down is underwater

and we must run up,

up, and away

to survive.

​

Paths narrow

from both sides

as rising tides converge.

Just six feet separate sea from

street and yet we are still not refugees.

Migration with dignity — 

We will join the world

a small footprint