Gone Sailing - A Sign on the Door
Again. We lose sight of land
Amidst new structures,
On the hips of waves
As elbows rise and fall,
Turning egg whites in a bowl.
We are far from cities
With their bellies tucked
And bodies tight to tower
Machine-like on the skyline
Of everybody’s dreams.
No. We are lovers lost at sea,
Floating above the ocean
Filled with unknown creatures.
The rigging creaking in the wind
Telling stories of back home.
Birds of foreign landscapes
Singing hips and shoulders
As they rise and fall. Promising
Some other things
Drying here with pegs on strings.
