Her cupid-bow lips parted and uncurled the duvets in the ocean. Rolling her wrists, she let the silk waves ripple against the base of ships. Rudders grazing seaweed nets pushed the ship on. Sometimes I think I can see her in the expanse of the sky, where the stars glimmer onto the waves.
Someday, I wait by the docks with my right ear facing the horizon. Leaning slightly over the wooden slabs, I listen for a siren. Inflections and tones crashing on to the waves, I imagine her dark hair and full lips greeting land and sea.
You’ve come onto this island, merely looking for a way to run away, but question why I stay. I’ve guarded the whitish sands of scuttling turtles and dexterous crabs. With the shade of the tree, an old man plays his lute aware his body will wash into the waves when he is ready to die. I’ve guarded the flowers parachuting themselves onto the ocean, and the burnt pyres sailing where the sun billows out the horizon.