Is the beauty here just on the boundaries?
Where the ocean gives up, confronted by the weight of infinite grains
An hourglass exploded
On the inside, commerce, and the crumbling caribbean concrete of strife and stress
Roadside shacks and the capitalist backwater of black market necessity
Here, dark rum and bright beaches and the old woman’s trash burning in a Parish beyond the rolling leafy hills
Clues 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.