These translucent pearls on my eyelashes
Are formed from the grit of your sand,
One blink and they are transfigured,
Become waves breaking against this boat,
Formed from scarred wood and torn tissue
And set adrift in a becalmed ocean.
But I am a seasoned sailor of these waters,
Well versed in casting nets and weather watching,
I will not starve nor die of thirst,
I have provisions enough for this stillness.
So when it comes, that gentle breeze,
I will lift the sails and point the boat,
Let the vessel skip across waves
Towards a hidden harbour and new lands;
Until then I scan the horizon,
Fight the gannets for their dinner,
Repair these torn sails
And take stock of what’s in my heart.