I
You say, I wish I were
floating
still
and you are
in the timeless place
they call childhood
a photograph
II
Look, there you are—
a red dot floating
in the middle of the blue
in defiance of land
as if you were
alone
Still
someone was taking the photograph
III
The past draws you
in collusion with land
thoughts as heavy as concrete
leave seaweed stranded
in the wake of tides
where seagulls pitch
on wind-beaten wings
salt stings
IV
My mother, you say
the island
the sea
define the shore
where old ends and new begins
where the iron-lung of the sea breathes back and forth
cliffs crumble (over millennia) into the sea
waves settle solid as rock
the island shifts on its foundations
or the wind tilts the frame
a photograph
