Going

the settle of the sea
in my ears, curving homes
into me with their white yawns
and blue hunger wings.
waves, like poetry, hook
themselves onto me.
I like the way the world melts
into us
languid curves, eating our way
into the lull, the rhythm of the boat
tugging me with its anonymity
and its solitude.

Coming

the sun is swallowed
round disc dying, birds skim
the quiet water, military style,
disciplined into straight lines.
we lie, too much talking and
no ones listening
teenage style mess in the cabin
and eyes glued to the foreverness
of the ripples underneath
our lives.
I contemplate, swaying with
the thought of falling into the water
while cigarette smiles cloud
their dreams over my head
and I breathe in

our fragility.


a/n- yeah, this is actually about a school trip to an island nearby. Going refers to the departure to the island, and the second para is coming home time. being on that boat that day was wonderful