I come from another ocean
just as deep, just as mazarine
with tides that swell and churn
of cloves, anise, cardamom,
a constellation. Where north?
Where east? A foreboding task
for someone so close
to the equator.
Do not drown. Do not drown.
A leatherback turtle
clutches together
an archipelago just for you.
In a hushed patois,
you gill fish and hem
layers upon layers upon layers
of waxed orchids and peacocks
whose three thousand and one blue
eyes quake, crest, verge in a wave.
I am wrecked, wreckage,
my feet knead water, my feet,
alien fin, sublease of land.
