In this room our eyes are fishing boats
Drifting out over the ocean,
Unanchored, unmoored,
Their oars rising through the water,
As waves rock the bow.
The sky slips into the horizon
As we sink into the sea,
Unlimited, unconfined,
Our palms clasped like closed shells,
And legs tangled like mangrove roots.
What use are words here?
When the sound of your breath says enough,
When in the air dawn is breaking,
And your eyes hold an island, an oasis, the sun.
Outside, the rain falls pitta patta on the windowpane,
Rivers spilling down the glass,
Water meeting sand again,
Pulling us back to shore.
This poem has since been published in Borderless: A Literary Anthology.
