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