Isolated in exile I am my own Napoleon
but longing for no Josephine
and confusing my Arras with my Elba as
waiting and watching The Empire Strikes Back ad nauseam
talking loudly to myself, reducing this island's population of donkeys
to sad creatures dragging themselves along
by their front legs.
All the ships that pass have black sails.
I turn my eyes inward
scan that horizon
whilst indulging in fantastic orgies with hope, faith and patience.