On the island of Lento,

I viewed  sky-scrapers tickling the clouds,

the night is young but the noise is loud.

On the island of Vigore,

I watched heated heights connect to the infinite indigo sky,

dazzling streams shooting downward.

On the island of Metado,

I felt the essence of heat rising,

water-warmer.

On the island of dritto,

I felt the memory of abodes scattered like a colony of ants,

Each as pleasingly as the last.

On the island of Ramosa,

I examined the canopy-creator,

the place it seems to be night all the time.