Ascent to Crown

From this verdant crest,
the island unfurls like a living moving map.
Crown Mountains gift, a precipice of emerald,
where the world falls away into an infinite sapphire.

Below, Charlotte Amalie spills across the hillsides,
a tide of colorful roofs, terra cotta and white,
clustered together, holding memories
of that voyage, etched into mortar and stucco.

And then, the harbor,
a mirror reflecting the vast heavens.
Small boats, white as scattered petals,
bob on the gentle swell, tracing the jagged coast.

That titan of the sea, our vessel home,
rests near the waterfront,
an intruder from the horizon
docked briefly in this haven.

Above, the sky is not merely blue,
but an expanse of vibrant cerulean,
heavy with clouds as white and fluffy
as cotton batting, piled high and dramatic.

The air is sharp with salt and sun baked earth.
The view is a melody struck perfectly:
green against blue, land against sea,
waiting for us to return.