If I Were a Poet

I wonder if I could live here,
where palm leaves caress the night sky,
where waves, washing in and out, sing a lullaby,
and the scent of jasmine intoxicates.

I think of days full of nothing,
empty calendar pages sparkling with sand
like diamond dust in the perfect sun.
I think of talking for hours with friends—
there are no destinations,
because where we already are is perfect.

But then I think
I could never live here,
because the Wi-Fi is too slow.