yet with cameras and caps, how

diluted this tanker’s oil streaming

through wharves, cashed

town searching for extremities,

habitat of buses; here we are,

we are on time. i too have followed

the landed coast, prodigal breath

thrusting salt over headlands,

worrying wings of hair;

i threw the beach

in your face and brightened

birds you flew.

                            latitudes, can

we align? Good Hope, del

Fuego, clasp hands: pole-

stretched arrows, meeting

the reclusive ice half way.